


Know Your Demons

by Ilyshaa



Series: Know Your Demons [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Angels vs. Demons, Demons, Fallen Angels, Fictional Religion & Theology, Magic, Occult, Theology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilyshaa/pseuds/Ilyshaa
Summary: Arissa and her friends try to summon a demon. What will they do if they succeed?





	1. Supplies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins with a bell...

~

The small bell chimes when the door swings open. Three young women enter the shop. The windows facing the street give the front room an aged, dusty ambiance from caked on dirt. The area is small but has many interesting goods on display. The girls stand in the entrance, marveling and pointing at various products.

Notebooks with carved leather covers sit next to cut glass inkwells. Dip pens, with both fancy feather ends and simple wooden bodies, lay among a variety of colorful inks. Deeper into the building larger rooms hold tables and shelves, with large jars, or stacks of dried plants, or books. The scent of incense hangs in the still air.

They can see a small glass case and register in the next room. An old man with scraggly white hair stands behind the counter. He’s bent with age but moves around easily enough. He's wearing a pale yellow long sleeved tunic with threadbare embroidery along the neckline and cuffs. He wipes a dry cloth among the shelved items behind the counter.

At the bell chime he pauses and turns his face to the door. His eyes look strangely pale.“Welcome in,” he calls. His voice is gravely and with a bit of a shake, but his tone is friendly. “Let me know if you have questions.”

The trio move deeper into the store and split up, their layered black clothes making them look like shadows passing among the shelves. The tallest, Isabelle, immediately heads to the books. Her fingers touch the spines along a row before she carefully picks up a large volume and flips through a few pages. The shortest, Heather, heads past a bead curtain to look at dried plants and incense. The third, Arissa, steps towards the nearby display. She can hear her best friends’ pleased chirps from across the shop and smiles while she browses the selection of pen bodies and ink. She restrains her wide lace sleeve as she reaches to pick up a delicate looking glass pen from a shelf. Just before her fingers touch the glass she hears a gravely voice.

“You have fine taste, it seems,” the clerk says from just over her shoulder.

“Eep!” Arissa jumps and yanks her hand back. She didn't hear him approach at all! She stares at him, her eyes wide. He's even older than she thought at first glance. There isn't a part of his face that isn't wrinkled, but he smiles warmly to her. She's close enough to see his eyes aren't just pale, they are cloudy and not quite focused. Is he blind? He shuffles back a bit and waves his hand for her to follow.

“Come. I think I have something you'll like.” He heads behind the counter and opens a set of small carved doors.

She follows slowly, his shuffle barely at a mosey speed. Arissa looks at the wares displayed in the glass counter as he rummages. She kneels down to look at a carved silver colored bowl. She leans closer, trying to see if it's silver or nickel. Her face bumps the glass as she leans in, leaving a smear of her black lipstick. She stands quickly and tries to look like nothing happened, but her cheeks still turn pink.

She notices a display on the counter as she steps closer. It looks like a mini–shrine with three tiers of tea candles set up like devotional candles. Each row is a different color, with a small note on one side reading ’Success’, ’Health’, or ’Wealth’ from top to bottom. A few of the candles are lit. There's a miniature potted tree instead of a saint statue above the candles.

“You may light a candle, if you'd like to invite an aspect to your life,” the clerk says without turning around, still rummaging.

Arissa tilts her head, considering the display. She picks up a short bamboo stick from the cup. She carefully holds her sleeve back so it doesn't drape into the little flames and lights the stick from a candle in the front row. She watches it blacken and burn for a moment before reaching to light a fresh candle on the top row. She blows out the stick and sets it back with the others.

She turns back to the clerk but a second later registers heat on her arm.Her sleeve is burning! Shit! Shit! She smacks at the sleeve with her hand, putting out the tiny flames as quick as she can. It must have draped into the fire as she lit the candle. She was sure she held it back. She pulls the sleeve back and looks over her arm. Thankfully the flames only got her clothes and didn't burn her skin. She sighs quietly, dropping her hands and letting her head fall back. That's the third time in so many weeks. She won't have any shirts left at this rate.

The clerk ’ah–ha!’s just as she lifts her head again. He turns around with a very pleased look on his face holding a tray covered by a fraying cloth. He lays it on the counter, his hands reaching cautiously to find the counter before placing the box down.

Arissa wonders again if he's blind. But he walked around the store so easily a moment ago?

He pulls back the cloth to reveal a velvet lined tray with three carved dip pen handles held by raised holders. They are beautifully intricate. They each look like a branch with vines wrapping around the length. Somehow the artist was able to get a gem nestled between two delicate carved leaves at the end of each pen shaft.

“Oh wow,” Arissa breathes. She leans over to look at the pens closer. They are obviously from the same artist, but each one is unique. The color of gem and plants carved are different on each. “These are beautiful.” She reaches for the center pen with a red gem then hesitates, “…may I touch them?”

“Of course,” he smiles again, his eyes staring ahead of him.

She picks up the pen. It's so light.She holds it gently, afraid too tight a grip would break one of the delicate carvings. She stares at the pen in her hand, marveling at it. If a pen could feel tailored to a hand, this pen is it. It sits in her grip perfectly.

“What plants are these?” She touches a leaf that holds the gem in place.

He holds his hand out and she places the pen into his grip, her hand feeling empty at its loss. He runs his fingers along the carvings then declares, “this one is the Birch, for new beginnings and stability, with a garnet.”

“Are they real stones?”

“Yes, all are natural stones. The wood used in each was carved into the leaves. The one with emerald is Oak, for strength. The one with sapphire is Alder, for creativity.”

“They are beautiful, but I don't think I can afford them today.” Arissa says, her brows scrunching together. There's a whine in her voice that wasn't there before.

“Another time, then.”He says gently, the shake in his voice a bit more pronounced than earlier. “Perhaps as a gift.”

Arissa watches mournfully as he returns the pen to its place and covers the tray carefully. He turns back to the cabinet as Isabelle and Heather walk up. Isabelle has a small but thick and tattered book clutched to her chest. Heather’s hands are empty, and they both smile brightly.

“We found something. We want this.” Isabelle declares quietly. Her green eyes sparkle and she ducks her head a bit, hugging the book tighter.

“Ah! Now that's good news.” The clerk chimes in. He's facing the three of them with both hands on the near edge of the counter and a pleased smile on his face. He still doesn't look at any of their faces directly.

Isabelle raises her brows at his faraway expression. She puts the book on the counter and tilts her head, still looking at him. Her question slips out absently. “Can you see?”

Heather and Arissa’s mouths drop open.

The clerk lets out a chuckle.

“Oh!” Isabelle gasps at her own boldness and covers her mouth. Her face flushes deep red under her nearly white makeup and she stutters an apology. “I – uh.. I didn't – um… I'm sorry!” The red creeps down her neck and disappears past her collar.

“It's quite alright, dear.” The clerk laughs gently, his warm humor suffusing his voice. “It's refreshing to meet someone who says what's in their heart.”

Isabelle bites her lip and ducks her head, stepping behind Arissa as if to hide. It doesn't work since she is half a head taller than the other youth.

“To answer your question: yes, in my own way. I know my shop, and can tell who is where. And I can see what kind of person they are by what they do in my shop.” He waves his hand across the counter until his fingers bump the book and he picks it up.

The indulgent smile drops from his face when he traces the spine. “Is this your selection?”

The three ladies glance at each other then Heather responds. “Yes. We want this book.”

His cloudy eyes narrow slightly and he seems to look at each woman in turn, as if he were studying their faces. Didn't he just say he was blind?

“This is a copy of the Book of Kempe. There is quite a lot of ..information in these pages. Are you certain this is your selection?”

“Yes,” Heather confirms again, her brows furrowing as she leans towards the clerk and states firmly. “We are not beginners. We want to buy *this* book.” Her black polished nail taps the glass counter to emphasize her surety.

“Excellent choice!” The clerk coos brightly, chipper even, as if he hadn't just tried to talk them out of their purchase. He takes a half step over to the register and hits a few keys. Before long their purchase is complete and they are bustling out the door.

~

The three women walk down the sidewalk, passing shops and people as they make their way toward the train station.

“So what did we buy?” Arissa looks over to Isabelle, who follows a step behind at her elbow, new book in hand.

Isabelle glances up at her best friend, a wide grin on her face but doesn't answer.

“This is a great find! The Book of Kempe was originally written in like, the 1400’s. It started as an autobiography of Margery Kempe, a Christian mystic,” Heather supplies.

“Oh yeah?” Arissa looks to her other best friend. Heather is practically jumping as she walks backwards down the way. 

“She went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land and decided to record the trip, especially the confrontations with demonic forces. She passed the book to her daughters and they did the same. In addition to personal events they recorded useful information. Each daughter received a copy when she became a mother. When copies were made the most useful information was kept and extra pages added to be filled by the next generation. The books retained the name Kempe even though each daughter married into different families,” Heather says, proud of her knowledge of this book. Isabelle probably told her the history.

“So that means there's a bunch of different versions. For all the daughters.” Isabelle adds as she flips through several pages, scanning over the manuscript style illuminations and scribbles in the margins. “A lot of this looks like old English, with weird spelling and stuff.”

“Can you read it?”

“Yes, it's just slow.”

“Then let's get home so we can read it in peace.” Arissa wraps her arm around Isabelle's and the three friends head up onto the station platform.

~

The three young women come into the house in a flurry, leaving unmarred black combat style boots by the door. They immediately head up the wide curved stairs. They are halfway up when a voice calls out from deeper in the house.

“Arissa? Is that you?”

She stops on the steps, rolling her eyes dramatically to her friends before handing off her backpack and shooing them ahead of her.

“Yes, mom.” She calls as she turns around and takes a few steps back down the stairs.

“How was the bookstore?” Her mom comes down the hallway drying her hands on a small towel. She's wearing an apron over her pink blouse and white capri pants outfit. It's a cute little thing with a small colorful print and an edge of white ruffles. Her hair is up, the blonde locks styled to look carelessly arranged, but Arissa can tell she spent a lot of time on it.

“What's with the apron?”

Her mother's expression sours and she sighs deeply, throwing the towel onto her shoulder with maybe more force than was strictly necessary.

“It's for the dinner party,” she pauses a moment, then continues, irritation clear and growing in her tone, “with the neighbors, that's happening tonight.” Her brows furrow. “That you forgot about, again, because it's not important to you.”

“That's tonight?” Arissa whines. “I wanted to hang out tonight!”

“I know. And I reminded you three times this week, twice yesterday, so there's no excuse.”

Arissa sighs deeply, her face hidden from her mother by her arms on the railing. She can hear her mother’s steps get closer and sighs again dramatically when her hair is petted.

“The party starts at six, so you have an hour before you need to start getting ready,” her mother says gently.“I picked out some options for you to wear.”

Arissa lifts her head, her brows furrowed deeply. “You went in my room?”

Her mother pets Arissa’s cheek and gently grips her chin, sharp blue eyes looking her in the face with a serious expression. “Of course I did. I want you at this party and that's where you keep your clothes.” She glances back down the hall when the kitchen timer beeps. “Now, no more whining. I expect you to be dressed and ready at six. You and the A–team can ’hang out’ all day tomorrow.” She lets go and heads towards the kitchen.

Arissa rolls her eyes at her mother's nickname for her and her friends then heads upstairs.

~

Arissa hurries into her room, closing the door quietly. She turns the lock after a moment’s hesitation. Her best friends lay on her bed, lounging as if they had been there for hours. Heather scoots a bit away from Isabelle and pats the space between them. Arissa joins her two best friends on the canopy bed, laying between them on the black embroidered coverlet. It's rumpled from the girls crawling across it. Heather repositions to lay her legs over both women, reclining on a small mountain of satin pillows.

“What did she want? Are you in trouble?” Isabelle asks, not looking away from the beaten up tome in her hands. She shimmies a little to close the gap between her and Arissa, their sides pressing together snugly. Their clothes are all an assortment of black fabric and accessories, making the three of them almost disappear into the dark covers.

“There's a dinner party tonight. She was mad I forgot.” Arissa curls onto her side, burying her face next to Isabelle’s elbow. “They are so BORING! Ugh!”

“That's ok,” comes Isabelle’s almost flippant reply. “We can't do anything tonight anyway.” She points to a squiggly line on the page that looks like a margin note. “I'm reading the account of when they summoned a demon, and this says ’at the height of day’ so it's too late already.”

“Is there anything tomorrow? Cause then everything works out.” Heather chimes from her place on the pillows. “Isabelle needs time to figure out the ritual. I'll gather supplies tonight and we will do it tomorrow.”

“Perfect, I'm totally free tomorrow! We'll do it then.” Arissa sits up, a huge smile on her face. She looks around her bedroom. It's a large room on the second floor of the house. The pastel walls are a marked contrast to the black lace curtains and bed linens.Her canopy bed sits on one end of the rectangular room while a small side table and two cushioned chairs fill the other end. Her dresser with mirror stands against the wall between the two areas. Clothes lay strewn about the room. Presumably clean clothes lay piled on the dresser and spilling out of a tall basket. “Let's make some space before you go so we can be ready tomorrow.”

Heather and Arissa work on one end of the bedroom, shifting the small side table and chairs against the wall and picking up the clothes strewn about. Isabelle lays on the bed, thumbing through the newly purchased book, every so often calling out things they will need. Black sand for the sigil. A silver bottomed bowl. An iron bell. Clear water from a mountain spring.

Twenty minutes later one side of the room is wide open and clean, the other has the bed, a few pieces of furniture, and the laundry basket smooshed together.

“Ok this should be enough room.” Arissa wipes a drop of sweat from her temple. She looks around the room again and chuckles. It looks so awkwardly unbalanced with one end clear and the other overflowing.

“What time is the party?” Isabelle asks as she slides to the edge of the bed, her finger keeping her place in the book. She looks to the small bedside clock.

“Starts at six.”

“Crap. It's almost six.” Isabelle turns the clock so Arissa can see. It's quarter to six.

“Crap! I have to get dressed! Mom said she picked something for me to wear. Where did it go?” She stands at the edge of the full half of her room panicked and unsure where to even start looking.

“There's some dresses hanging here,” Heather offers as she pulls the lacy curtains back. “I thought you put them there.”

Arissa frowns at her options and sighs heavily. “No. She did that. Ugh, hate when she picks my clothes.”

Two dresses hang from the canopy bar. One is a pale green tea dress. It has a sheer overlay with white dots woven in. A delicate gold necklace with white stones and pearls accompanies it on the hanger. Arissa sneers at the set. “Not this one. She keeps trying to get me to wear it. I don't know why she bought it. She knows I won't wear pastels.”

“This one is cute though.“ Heather says as she hands the second hanger over. It holds a shirt/skirt combo. A long black velvet skirt is paired with a dark lavender long sleeved lace shirt. A black camisole accompanies the shirt.

“It's fine.” Arissa twists her mouth at this set. It's exactly what she would choose if she had gone through her closet. She can't decide if her mother is extremely thoughtful or manipulative. Probably both. She sighs and drapes the lace and velvet outfit over her arm. “I better get dressed and come down. She'll be mad if I don't.”

“We'll be back first thing in the morning.” Both girls kiss Arissa's cheek before leaving.

~


	2. Summoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful who you call.

~

Heather, Isabelle, and Arissa sit around the breakfast table, each with different meals in front of them. Sunlight streams in the bay window making the room bright and cheery, despite their funeral ready wardrobe. Isabelle’s face is hidden behind the book, which sports a new decorative cloth cover. An empty bowl sits in front of her, the remnants of oatmeal cling to the sides. Heather finishes orange juice from her cup with one hand while holding a piece of thick bacon in the other. Arissa works on finishing her two pancakes.

Merry, Arissa’s mother, hums a lively tune as she bustles around the kitchen, cleaning up large dishes from the party the night before. “When you're finished with breakfast you can go,” she says in her usual chipper tone.

Arissa leaves a few bites of pancake on her plate and slides out from the pale wooden booth. Her two friends follow her out, all three chiming thankyou’s as they go.

They head up the stairs more sedately than the day before.

“Your mom makes the best breakfast,” Heather says, sounding unguarded.

“You just think that cause she always makes you bacon.” Arissa giggles at how dreamy her best friend sounds.

“She does, and it's the best,” Heather sighs.

Once upstairs they close and lock the door. Isabelle heads to one set of windows while Arissa heads to the other. They draw the curtains closed to block out as much light as possible. Heather opens the small box sitting on the bed. She carefully pulls out a few items, laying them in a row.

“I got everything Isabelle said. A bunch of sand, the bowl, a bell, and clean spring water.” Heather grins, holding up a plastic bottle of fancy ‘spring water’ she got from the corner store.

“Perfect! I worked out the ritual last night. It's surprisingly easy. We need this sigil drawn in sand, then we place the water in the bowl and recite the words.” Isabelle holds out two index cards to her friends. One side has a small paragraph written in her easy to read handwriting. On the other side is a simple glyph with two main circles, some writing between them, and shapes jutting off the outer circle at four places.

Arissa heads into the hallway, calling behind her, “one second!” She's back a moment later with a folded up pastel bundle.“We should lay a sheet down. So the sand doesn't get into the carpet.”

“How do you say this?” Heather steps over to Isabelle, furrowing her brows at the card.

“Merihem? Mer–ih–hem. Like a skirt hem,” Isabelle responds with a smile.

“Do we need to worry about saying it before we are ready?” Arissa asks as she starts to unfold the flat sheet.

Isabelle reaches to help and they unfold the large fabric together. “I don't think so. I think it's like just saying ’Heather‘ instead of ‘Sami, call Heather’,” she says as they billow the sheet across the open section of the room.

A chirp emanates from Isabelle’s purse and a lilting mechanical voice says “OK, calling HEATHER.”

“No! Ugh. Stupid phone…” Isabelle rolls her eyes.

Arissa and Heather burst out laughing while Isabelle digs her phone out of her bag. She sighs dramatically as she hits ’end’ on the unwanted call.

“We should probably power off our phones for this. Just in case.” Arissa picks hers up and taps a few times, making it actually power down instead of just lock. Shortly all three phones sit on Arissa's nightstand, off and silent. The king size pastel sheet lays stretched across Arissa's carpet.

“How big should we make the sigil?” Heather steps over to the edge of the sheet.

“Hm. Big enough to stand in, I would think?” Arissa replies, looking to Isabelle with her brows up.

“Yes, big enough to stand in, but it doesn't have to be huge. It will both summon and contain the demon. Will you do it Heather? You're the best artist.”

Heather smiles and retrieves the bag of sand. It's a large clear plastic bag with probably five pounds of black sand in it. She steps onto the sheet as Arissa walks over to the bed.

“When do we use the bell?” Arissa lifts the small bell and examines it thoughtfully. Her eyes droop and unfocus slightly. “…I feel like I should ring it while she's drawing.” Her brows furrow for a second, as if confused, then she turns and steps back over to where the others are near the sheet.

“It didn't say…but that feels right,” Isabelle replies, a bit dazed sounding.

All three take a deep breath and seem to come out of the mini trance at the same time.

The three look at each other and then Heather grins. “I will begin.”

~

Heather looks at the card, memorizing the image. She hoists the bag into the crook of her right arm and holds the resealable opening with her left. She nods to Arissa who lifts the bell and swings it gently.

The soft high pitch ring echoes around the room. Arissa swings the bell the other way a moment later, ringing it again just as the sound fades below human hearing.

Heather opens a couple inches of the seal and tips the bag slightly. A stream of fine grains pour out. Her eyes unfocus as the steady ringing lulls her back into that half trance state. She walks carefully outside the edge of the sheet leaving a narrow trail of sand. First she draws one large circle staying nearly a handspan inside the edge of sheet, then another smaller one within it. The four shapes jut off into the four corners of the sheet. She finishes the last shape and let's the bag drop behind her, away from the completed glyph.

Arissa continues ringing the bell.

Isabelle holds up the palm sized bowl and water bottle. She kneels outside the sigil, placing the tiny bowl within the inner circle then sits back on her ankles.

Heather lowers as well, mimicking the pose.

Arissa completes the triangle when she kneels on yet another side, still ringing the bell gently.

Isabelle opens the bottle and pours a splash into the bowl. It's such a small container that this little offering almost completely fills it.

Arissa lowers her hand as the last note fades. The three women take a deep breath and say in unison:

“Once for the want,”

Arissa’s chest tightens but she ignores it, must be nerves.

“Twice for the proof,”

Her skin buzzes. She can feel a cord draw taught somewhere inside her.

“Thrice to bring them on the hoof!”

Her head swims. There is so much pressure on every inch of her. Everything feels much too close, and much too delicate. One more breath and she might shatter.

“Meriheim.”

That cord inside her strains. It pulls hard at her chest, bringing her up off her ankles. The pull almost topples her. She can hardly breath. She wants to stop!

“Meriheim!”

The pull spreads across both shoulders and up into her neck. It feels as if the words were literally being forced from her body.

“Meriheim!”The word twists in on itself with the last sound out of her mouth.

Time stops.

The pull that felt like it would tear her to pieces vanishes, leaving her kneeling over a vast chasm about to topple in. She only has a heartbeat to panic at the feeling before the air explodes in a flash of red light and a thunderous BOOM!

A raucous crash of dropped pans sounds from the kitchen but the girls can’t hear anything anyway.

Acrid smoke hangs in the air. The quiet room fills with coughs and hand waving. After a second they can see through the smoke enough to see the sigil is now occupied. A figure looms over them. It's huge!

Arissa’s heart jumps into her throat and she sits back onto her ankles. It worked! They summoned a demon. And now there's a Demon.  
  
In.

Her.

Bedroom.

A deep growl comes from inside the sigil.

“Aarrriissssssaa….” the ragged, burning voice crawls up her spine. How does it know her name??

Arissa falls back fully, her arms coming up to defend from she doesn't even know what. She pants. Her lungs ache from the intense dry heat.

The smoke clears a bit more and finally she can see the demon they summoned. The creature must be seven feet tall. It's draped with long robes as dark as soot that seem to dissipate into the sigil. The body is long and seems lean, but she can tell it could never be described as weak. Horns sprout from the temples and curl back away from the face in a wave. Despite the lingering haze, the tips glint as the demon’s head moves, making them look sharp. The eyes have black sclera and brightly glowing red irises. Blackened skin pulls across the upper face, cracked and jagged. It looks like the flesh is burned and glowing under the cracks. The glow seems to form a web across the upper face that disappears into the hair. The lower face and jaw are smooth, but has almost the same dark ashen color as the upper part of the face. Thin lips curl back with a growl. She can see sharp, elongated canine and premolar teeth. Despite the unworldly features, that's a face she knows well.

“Mom?!”

~

There's another deep growl, then the voice slides over her nerves again, sharp and hot, and burning. The skin on her back and neck prickle like when she steps into a too hot bath.

“So… you called, and I came.” The anger is apparent, despite the almost flippant words. The demon –who looks like her mother and didn't deny it!– looks her hard in the eye. “Now the question remains: What do you Want?”

“Oh my god!” Arissa’s hands cover her mouth and she trembles. It really worked. They summoned a demon into her bedroom and now she has a Demon. In. Her. Bedroom! And it looks like her MOM!!

“Tsh!” The sound calls to mind the hiss of water on hot iron. “Don't be vulgar, young lady.”

Arissa’s eye bulge. Her heart falters and she feels a little hysterical. The demon just reprimanded her with the exact tone and phrase her mom uses. The demon is her mother.

She pants again. Her entire world rocked to the core with this new knowledge. Her MOM is a DEMON! What does that make her??

“Is it really you, Ms. Sayd?” Heather’s tiny voice sounds from a couple feet away.

Cold washes down Arissa‘s back. She was so caught up in her own reaction she forgot her best friends were even there. Suddenly she desperately wishes they weren't. She can't explain it but she knows they are in more danger here, right now in this moment, than they have ever been and it's her fault.

The red eyes narrow at her judgmentally and the demon turns away from Arissa to face Heather.

Arissa’s heart pounds in her ears. She wants to shout, to dispel the summons but she can't move. She doesn't see the expression the demon shows her best friend but Heather doesn't flinch, so maybe it's ok?

The question seems to have disrupted some flow the spell had, and the demon–her mother!– answers gently.

“Yes, Heather. It's really me.” This time the voice seems softer, more lenient, and slides across Arissa's nerves with less anger and heat. It feels like a tolerant response.

“Do you know why we called you?” Isabelle keeps her shoulders pulled back and tries to project strength but she's trembling. Her voice shakes. She keeps her words short and clipped, like she does when she gets into fights at school.

Merry smiles, towering over the three kneeling girls. Those sharp teeth show when she speaks. “You wish to make a deal. No one ever calls without a Want.”

She turns back to Arissa and lowers into a crouch in front of her. She folds her arms across one knee, hands dangling loosely. The sooty skin looks soft and a paler almost ashen color at the wrist but darkens farther down the fingers. Each digit ends in a menacing looking claw. She studies Arissa's face for a moment then reaches out. Her hand effortlessly crosses the barrier the sigil was supposed to create. Everything past the outer circle looks normal. Small, with pale pink skin, and neatly manicured nails painted in an ombré of pastel pink fading into teal at the tips. She gently grips Arissa's chin, exactly as she always does when she's serious. “The question remains: What do you three Want?”

Arissa's voice fails her. She trembles in that terribly familiar grip and stares into the face that is so like yet so unlike her mother's. She's forgotten why they did this. Why? Was it even important?

“We want to make a deal.” Heather says, her voice tinged with something but Arissa can't place it. Is that hope? Fear?

“Very well.” Merry drops her grip on her daughter’s chin and stands, watching as Arissa has to catch herself from falling forward. “But I'm not doing anything standing on a ruined sheet in my daughter’s bedroom.”

She walks off the sheet as if the barrier wasn't even there. When she passes across the outer circle her image immediately shifts back to how she normally looks. The face and body Arissa has known her entire life. She opens the door and steps out of the room, leaving the door wide for the three girls to follow. “Come down to the kitchen.”

~


	3. Sealing Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you give?

~

The three young women sit at the kitchen island. Arissa sits on the end while Isabelle and Heather sit along the side. Merry stands on the opposite side facing the two girls with an expression like she's tempted to call this whole thing off. Her face and body have returned to normal but her eyes are still that sharp glowing red and the whites of her eyes are black. She must have decided to go ahead. She takes a breath and sets her hands on the cool granite counter. She looks at Arissa, her blond brows low.

“You go last.” Her eyes narrow at her daughter for a moment before she turns to Isabelle. Her expression softens and she smiles just a bit. It looks like a reassuring smile, not a slippery car salesman smile. Her tone is supportive to match. “Isabelle. What do you want?”

“I want knowledge. I want to know the truth.” Her voice shakes but less than before. She has her hands folded in front of her and has managed to calm her trembles.

“Those are separate and distinct. You cannot negotiate for both. What do you want?”

“I want to know the truth.” Isabelle says after a pause.

“…of…?”

Arissa watches her mother closely. She's talking to Isabelle carefully. Coaching her like she does when she helps Arissa with homework and the offered answer wasn't complete. She's holding Isabelle's hand through this whole process but letting her get there. Is that normal?

“…Of …whatever I'm hearing or reading or seeing,” Isabelle finally says.

Merry smiles deeper, as if pleased by that request. “What do you offer in payment? And don't say your soul, Isabelle, that's trite. You're smarter than that. Think of something better.”

Isabelle looks stricken. She swallows and her mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“This isn't a gift,” Merry says gently. “Something must be offered in exchange for what you ask.”

“Uh… I.” She takes a shaky breath, her eyes look at the counter but move like she's thinking hard or reading something. “…my emotion?” She looks up at Merry, determination in her face.

“Hm. Interesting. I'm listening.”

“You, uh, will taste my joy and savor my agony when I feel it.” She sits up straight, her face blank as if she didn't just offer up two of the strongest feelings teenagers experience.

“Forever?” Merry raises a brow at her, again in that ’there's more keep going’ tone.

“For …ten thousand days.”

“Done.” Her eyes flash and she gets a predatory look for just a moment, then it's gone, back to the supportive mother Arissa's always known.

Isabelle's eye twitches and she takes a slow blink. She looks as if she's just gotten a terrible headache. She blows out a slow breath. Her hand comes up and she bends over the counter, holding her head as if she's experiencing the worst migraine of her life.

Arissa stares at her mother. This creature, this woman, who she thought she knew. She's a demon. And her best friend just traded two extreme emotions to her. For what? Truth? How can that even be a thing to trade?

Merry glances to Arissa and her expression says both ’there's nothing you can do’ and ’I'll get to you eventually.’

Arissa's stomach drops and she leans forward onto her elbows. She looks to Heather when her mother does. She feels like she should be thinking of something to ask for, as if her mother were some absurd version of Santa! But her adrenaline has been flowing since she saw that oh so familiar face in the smoke. She can't think. All she can do is shake. And watch.

“Heather, what do you want?” Merry sounds a bit ritualistic, but maybe that's because she's said that phrase so much today.

“I want to be able to express myself with art. I want to be able to share what I see in my head with the world.” Heather says, her eyes glimmer like a genie stands before her ready to grant anything she asks. But that's what's happening, isn't it? Only this genie must take something in exchange.

“What do you offer in payment?”

“My breath.”

Merry tilts her head a bit and takes a half step closer, her hip pressing into the island. She looks at Heather with an intensity that's palpable. The red of her eyes brightens and intensifies. “Explain.” It sounds almost as if she had to fight to get the word out.

Heather blushes furiously but doesn't break eye contact. “I offer my last breath. To be collected when I reach the end of my natural life.”

Merry stares. Her breath sounds labored and her red eyes unfocus for a moment. She seems as if she's looking far into the distance, right through Heather’s head. She comes back to herself and says quietly. “Produce your chosen tool.”

Heather holds her hands out, palm up.

Merry reaches across the island, her pale hands darken and grow. She grips Heather's hands and presses her thumbs into the center of each palm. She grips hard, digging in until Heather squirms and cries out in pain.

The image is absurd to Arissa's eyes. Her best friend holding hands with her mother across the kitchen island, except her mother's hands are huge, and the tips of her fingers are that deep sooty black with murderous looking claws.

Tears streak down Heather's cheeks, leaving trails of her mascara. She chants ’ow ow ow’ but Merry doesn't let go. A warm glow, the color of exposed embers, appears where the thumbs press into Heather's palms. Heather shrieks and her arms jerk back but Merry doesn't let go. The glow slides up Heather's forearms like it's moving through her veins. She goes stark white, all the color draining from her face. She falls silent, panting, overwhelmed from the pain. She sags on the stool as the glow rises to her shoulders. Her eyes shift to that same burning orange. Just as Heather slips off the seat Merry takes a half step back and pulls firmly. She keeps the young woman from falling by stretching the her across the island.

“Heather.”

Her friend groans and struggles to lift her head. Her orange eyes glow brightly when she finally looks into Merry’s face.

“You will find the skill.” Her voice shifts from her usual supportive mezzo tones into that searing voice from when she first appeared. “Anything you make, any work you create with these hands will be your vision, as you see it in your mind, for the rest of your life. In exchange,” her voice sounds so menacing, so hungry, with a deeper heat and a growl that wasn't there a second ago, “I will have your Last Breath, taken on your last day.” She releases Heather’s hands leaving the girl panting and sprawled across the counter like some obscene sacrifice.

For a long time Heather lays trembling on the cool granite. Arissa wonders if she's still conscious. Finally she shifts and pulls one of her arms in. She stays laying on the counter, probably too weak to move. Heather looks at her hand. It bears an odd glowing mark in the palm. She stares at the mark. The glow in her eyes fades as the marks on her hands slowly disappear. She continues to stare long after the last traces are gone.

Merry turns to her daughter. Her expression is distant and her voice carries that ritual tone again, though the words are all wrong. “And now you, daughter of mine. What would you ask of me?”

Her mind is a blank. Her mother is looking at her with those eyes. So different from the eyes she's known her entire life. She used to be so proud that her iceberg blue eyes were the same as her mother's, but are they really her mother’s eyes? Her mouth opens but she still doesn't know what she's about to say.

“I want to see the world how you do, right now, with those eyes. And I want to do it at will, whenever I want.” Arissa barely stops her hands from covering her mouth, but she manages to keep them on the counter.

Merry stands there, staring at her daughter for a long, worried moment. “Do you know what you are asking?”

“…no. You asked what I want, so I said.”

Her mother takes a breath and sighs lightly. She looks over her shoulder as if she will refuse but then she steps around the island to stand in front of Arissa. She lifts her hands, which look human, and holds her daughter’s head still. She leans in, bright red looking into nervous blue eyes until their noses almost bump.

Arissa can't do anything but stare into that hypnotic gaze. The glow brightens until her eyes ache. She wants to look away but can't. Then there's a blinding flash of red light.

“Aah!” She jerks away from her mother's grip. She falls back, landing hard on her hip and sprawls across the kitchen floor. Whimpers fill the air and she presses her hands into her eyes, as if that would help. She curls onto her side, blinking and trying to see through the red haze. A second later there's a gentle grip pulling her hands away from her face. Her mother helps her to stand and then sit again on the stool. She can almost see where the window is but everything else is covered in a red blur. She hears a cabinet open and close. It feels like a camera flash went off right in front of her face and now she has to wait to see again. She can hear her friends’ labored breathing and wonders if they are hurting as much as she is.

“You have each made and received your request. Our contract is set,” Merry says, her voice ringing with that ritual tone.

After the last word she sighs as if finally being able to relax. She sets a small dish in front of each young woman, clinking the ceramic when she sets the plate in front of Arissa. She sets a plate down in front of herself too. “Have a sweet to celebrate. You’ll feel better.”

“What is it?” Arissa asks. She holds the shallow dish, her fingers touching a small cube carefully.

“A bon bon, I think?” Heather says with a shake in her voice. She must have eaten it. Arissa can hear her friend’s breathing relax. “MMmmm,” Heather hums around the treat.

Isabelle and Arissa both eat theirs and both feel the day’s stress wash out them. Arissa’s eyes immediately clear of the fog and she looks around. The room is just the same as always. Her mother is just the same as always, even down to her striking blue eyes.

“Ok girls, there's a few more things you need to know about our deal.” Merry pulls the last stool around the island. The leg bangs into a large stock pot on the floor but she ignores it and sits. “Most would let you find these things out on your own but I’d rather not watch you run around like chickens.”

Isabelle snorts a laugh and coughs to cover it.

“First off, this stays between us. You cannot discuss your deal or _anything_ that happened today with anyone except the four people in this room right now.”

Heather nods, finally settled on the stool again.“Okay. That makes sense.”

“Second, I’ve pushed your gifts down to dormancy.” She raises a hand to forestall their protests. “They will awaken with time. Too jarring a change will be damaging to you.”

“How will we know when they are active again?” Isabelle asks leaning forward, her hands gently cupping the empty dish.

“Think of it as a light. When you turn a lamp on after being in the dark a while it hurts. But a sunrise after a night of darkness doesn’t hurt, and you don't have to ask ‘how do we know the sun is up?’”

Isabelle bites her lip and looks mildly embarrassed at that answer.

“Finally, specifically for you Heather. There is always going to be a learning curve, yours is just extremely short now.”

Heather balls her hands into fists and looks like she’s ready to jump into high gear to try literally everything. She barely stays on her stool.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Merry says with a sharp tone, “I need to finish these dishes and you three have a room to clean…”

Heather and Isabelle jump up and quickly leave the kitchen. Arissa lingers by the door as her mother picks up the stock pot and a couple skillets strewn about.

“No more discussion, young lady. Go fix your room.” Merry deliberately keeps her back to her daughter.

Arissa turns and heads upstairs. She doesn’t see the tremors in her mother's shoulders or the tears that fall after her departure. 

~


	4. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun rises.

~

Three days.

Three days since Arissa and her two best friends summoned a demon.

Three days since they summoned a demon and her MOTHER answered the call.

Three days since they each received a gift but it was made dormant. Her mother had explained it like a sunrise. Well the sun’s come up three times and still nothing!

Arissa stands at the bathroom sink, hands on the counter and her nose almost touching the glass. She examines her face, looking for any traces of a non human nature. She had asked for demon eyes. She sighs after a moment and leans her forehead on the glass. Slowest sunrise ever.

She stands up and takes a half step back, looking at herself again in the perfect glass. Her pin straight black hair falls around her face. She normally ties it up but she woke up tired today.

She examines her face with it's pointed chin, arched eyebrows, high cheekbones. She always thought she had good features that leant themselves to her preferred goth aesthetic. Which of those features are demonic? Was she into this look because of her unknown heritage? Her mom always dressed in pastels and jewel tones. Arissa's pale skin looks sallow and she has circles under her eyes from the fitful sleep these last few nights. She hasn't eaten much lately either.Her cheeks are hollowed looking and her eyes are sunken.

She takes a breath and sighs. She looks at her hands and tilts her head. Her eye twitches and a cold rush moves down her back. She looks up into the mirror.

“Aaaahh!!” She throws herself back from the image, hitting the door and bouncing into the hallway before collapsing in a tumble.

“Arissa?!” That familiar voice calls from downstairs.

Arissa pants. She can't see right. She scuttles back into what should be her upstairs hallway but it's not. It's NOT! The edges keep moving and the colors are all wrong. She whines. Her eyes hurt. Her vision shifts and the house falls away. Her view zooms forward, past a smattering of trees and houses, right through the wall of another building and suddenly she's looking at Isabelle. Is that Isabelle? It looks like her friend, and is sitting there reading something, like Isabelle almost always does. Everything is haloed in weird lights. Isabelle’s outline is soft blue, concentrated on her head and eyes.

Isabelle looks up right into Arissa's vision. Her expression is confused and she sits forward. Can she see Arissa? Isabelle's eyes glimmer and then widen, as if she can see her best friend looking at her, from her hallway, across town.

“Aah!” Arissa jumps at the sight, startled by the piercing gaze of her friend. Her vision zooms sideways when she turns her head. It feels like she's looking in a telescope that's too powerful.

Her sight flies forward again, right past the city. Past the sky and into the cold dark of orbit. Her ears fill with a deep sharp hum that drowns out everything else. The sky is pitch black and absolutely filled with stars. More stars than she's ever seen. More than she ever thought could fit in the sky. She's never seen anything so beautiful. Her vision rotates slightly. She can see the Earth. It's so blue and so tiny. It looks precious and fragile. Her heart aches with a desire to protect it.

Something moves at the corner of her vision. She turns to look. She's nearly blinded by the piercing light. Is that the Sun?? It's monstrous! Her stomach drops at the sight and she feels a bit sick. A diffused path of light leads away from the sun, stretching across space to envelop the planet. A closer look reveals it's not one trail but thousands of tendrils. They don't fully envelop the earth either, they reach out just enough to touch the surface and shift around. The edges of the tendrils fade so it's difficult to see clearly where one is versus another. They caress the earth but it feels wrong. An unwanted touch she didn't know about before and can't stop. Tears sting her eyes but she doesn't look away.

Her vision snaps back with a jarring suddenness. Her ears ring in the silence of the house. She looks down at herself and yelps. Where's her body?! There's nothing but shifty dark shadows and inconstant flames where her body should be. She can feel her arm lift but she can't see it. There's no hands! No legs!

  
“Arissa! What happened? What's going on?” Her mother's voice calls from below. Her steps thud on the stairs as she's climbs them, calling ahead of herself. She's coming up the stairs in a hurry. Then there's a gentle firm grip on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Arissa looks up at the voice and screams.

The sight in front of her is incredible. Is that her mother?? She looks so different from before, larger even than when they summoned her the other day. How is she fitting inside the house? Where her face should be sits a smooth pitch black mask, showing no features except for a glowing web across the upper half and barely there red circles that might be eyes. The great body’s edges shift and flicker like it's made of flames but there's no light.A breath later those dim circles multiply, surrounding both her and the creature that might be her mother. Arissa screams again and tries to back away from all those gazes.

Merry can see Arissa's eyes glowing brilliantly, but where her own eyes have red irises Arissa's are pure white. What must she see with those eyes? Her sclera have turned black and a few veins around the eyes have darkened. Merry grabs Arissa's shoulder and hauls her daughter around, throwing herself onto the floor and dragging the younger woman into her lap. She wraps one arm around her daughter’s front, pinning both arms down, and clamps her other hand firmly over Arissa's eyes.

Arissa struggles. “No!” She was so shocked by the sight of the creature that she was captured! She tries to fight but the grip is like iron. She can’t see. She can't even move her head!

“Arissa! It's me. It's Mom.” Merry says, trying not to shout right into her daughter’s ear. “Breathe, honey. You're ok. You're safe. You're not hurt.”

“m–mom?” Arissa stops struggling and starts to tremble.

“Yes. It's me sweetheart. I'm here.” Merry says gently, keeping her voice even and calm. She holds tight to her daughter, particularly her eyes.

“Ohmygodmom!”

“Shh, shh. I know, hon. I'm so sorry. I thought we had more time… I should have prepared you better.”

Arissa whimpers. Her breath hitches as she starts to cry.

“Arissa. Can you do something for me?” Merry asks quickly, interrupting the breakdown that's about to happen. She keeps a tight hold on her own voice, so the waver that normally accompanies tears isn't apparent. Tears slide down her cheeks with every few blinks but her voice remains steady.

“…don't know,” comes the weak response.

“I want you to try to take a deep breath.” Merry says in her most reassuring voice.

Arissa takes a shaky gulp of air.

“Good. Again.”

Arissa tries again. She takes a deeper breath, letting it out in a huff. She's still trembling. 

“You're doing great. Take a few more, slower this time. I want you to control it.” She rubs her daughter’s arm with one hand. The other stays covering the eyes.

Arissa tries again, taking a breath and blowing it out in increasingly slow exhales. A few moments later there's no more trembles. Arissa's head lays pulled back against her mother's shoulder. She feels weak and exhausted.

“Do you feel better? Calmer?” Merry asks.

Arissa tries to nod, her limbs feel like they are filled with lead.

“Good. I'm going to move my hand, but before I do I want you to think of the house. Picture this hallway with us in it. Picture us surrounded by those light blue walls and carpet. Can you see it, in your mind?”

She scrunches her brows, trying to picture the hallway. She imagines them both there, sprawled on the floor with the long woven rug under them. The carpet is pale and peeks out between the rug and the walls. She never liked how each section of her house had a different color. Her friend’s houses are mostly beigey–eggshell walls, with the decor of each room separating the spaces, which makes the houses all feel like one space. But her walls are all carefully curated color schemes with molded trim. She's finally glad for all the variation. She can picture the space perfectly.

Her voice is so tiny it sounds awkward to her ears, “yes, i see it.”

“Ok good.” Merry’s grip loosens and she lifts her hand from Arissa's eyes. “What color is my hand?”

She opens her eyes slits and then relaxes. “Pink.” She looks around the hall, tears in her eyes, and twists in her mother's grip. Her arms snake around her waist and she buries her head into her shoulder, as if her mother would keep her safe from everything in the world.

Merry folds her up in a hug. “I am so sorry. I thought I would have more time to prepare you.” She pets her daughter's hair, trying to reassure her. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

“It was so different. I…I tried to look at the mirror, but it was wrong. Then I saw Isabelle. She was blue?” She sniffles and takes a breath. “And I was here, and I saw something else. There was no face! It was just eyes and fire. It was so scary. There were so many eyes.” Tears drop onto her mother's shirt and she sniffles, trying to stay calm but only just barely managing.  
  


“I'm so sorry honey.” Merry pets her daughter's hair for a while, letting her cry and process. She finally lifts Arissa's chin, gripping it like she always does. “Let's go downstairs. I'll show you how to use those eyes, if I can.”

~


	5. Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having Sight and Seeing are not the same thing.

~

The sun shines happily as Arissa and Merry walk down their front lawn. A gentle breeze keeps the air from being too hot, even in the direct light. Arissa tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and looks up and down the street. It’s a nice street, lined on both sides with neatly maintained homes and tasteful greenery. She looks at the trees along the far end of the street. She shudders at the memory of zooming past the trees, right through the houses and into her friend’s bedroom.

“Stand here by the sidewalk and look at the house across the street.” Merry stops in the driveway a few feet back from the sidewalk, her hands clasped behind her. The sun catches her blonde highlights making them shimmer gold.

“It's just a house. What am I going to see?”

“Tsh. Let me finish before you complain, ok.”

Arissa scrunches her brow and lowers her head for a moment, heat staining her cheeks. She waits for her mother to continue.

“Look at the house. Feel the shift of your eye muscles. Notice *each* muscle when you move your eyes.” Merry says, her voice quickly taking on a teaching lilt. She stands behind and slightly to the side of her daughter.

“…Ok” Arissa tries not to feel silly as they stand there, on a nice day, learning how to look at the neighbor’s house. Her eyes wander over the view. The sage colored two story house sits back from the street, with a large white trimmed porch wrapping around the lower level and disappearing around the side. The driveway and walking path up to the porch are lined in small shrubby bushes that sport tiny purple flowers. It's a pretty house, similar in style to the rest of the street, but what is she supposed to see?

“Focus on the house. Start with the whole picture. Then look at something small. Like their mailbox. Look past the mailbox to the door but don't move your whole eye. That tiny flex in your eye that moves your focus from one distance to another. Control it. That's how you will see the otherworld.”

Arissa shifts her view to the mailbox that stands at the end of the drive. It's built and painted in the same style as the house, like a miniature guardian or emissary to the home. She can feel her eyes move as she looks between the mailbox and the front door.

“Arg! It's not working. I'm just looking around!” She throws her hands up and then crosses them over her chest in a huff.

“This is just the first part of step one. Learning this isn't instant and you can't force it.” Merry lays a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You have to learn the feel of it before you control it.”

“What does that even mean, mom?”

“It means you want to run when you must first learn to crawl. Start withhow it feels to change your focus.”

“Ok, ’master splinter.’” Arissa rolls her eyes at her mother and then looks down at the grass. Her voice is small when she speaks. “…was it this hard when you were learning?”

Merry sighs with a shake of her head and looks down the street. “No, it was so much worse. This place is safe from greed, anger, and boredom.” Her voice sounds like she’s thinking of somewhere far away, though maybe not so much forgotten. “I learned to See in no such place. In that place, you either learn, or you perish.”

Arissa watches her mother her heart in her throat. There are so many questions swirling around her head she wonders if any of them will get answered. But now isn’t the time to press. She looks across the street again, pushing everything away to focus on what she can feel from her own body. The skin around her eyes is tight from the tears that smeared across them earlier. Her eyes are a bit dry and scratchy too. She looks back to the house and doesn’t move her eye so much as shift her length of focus, dropping the mailbox away in favor of the door. She can feel the tiny pull of the deep eye muscles as she shifts her focus. That must be it. She shifts her focus back to the mailbox without actually moving her eye. A couple more times and the shift is smoother, less awkward and feels more like a normal movement.

“Can you feel it? When you look elsewhere but don’t move your eyes?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then let's try to See something tiny.” Merry says, her hands on her hips and a wicked grin on her thin lips. “Come sit down.” She moves a few feet away and sits cross legged on the lawn, tucking her feet under her thighs. She seems completely unconcerned that her white pants might get stained. Arissa joins her, sitting with her knees to one side and her feet to the other.

“There's a line, about halfway through the sidewalk. I drew it when we moved into this house. Can you see it?”

Arissa looks at the sidewalk. It's just a long row of concrete that separates a tiny patch of grass from the rest of the lawn. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. She screws up her face and huffs “… no.”

“That's ok. Hold up your hand, like you have your phone, and try again. I want you to shift your perspective. Think of when you are looking at your phone, then look past it to something else.”

Arissa holds her empty hand up, her fingers curled in as if she has her phone in her grip. She looks at her palm and feels silly. She looks hard at her hand, then looks behind it to the plain boring sidewalk. Her frustration rises quickly.

“Breathe. Try again. It's a tiny movement in your eye.” Merry watches her daughter look between her hand and the sidewalk. She bites her tongue to keep from being over-encouraging or pestering. She wants to protect her daughter from all the world but holds herself back with an iron grip. This is what children do. They grow, and learn, and sometimes fail, but they must be given room to do all three. She knew this day would come when she started down this path. The best she can do is what she’s already done: Make a safe place for her daughter to grow and figure out who she is. She takes a deep breath and quietly lets it out. Her daughter is growing up so much faster than she wanted.

As she watches Arissa struggle her pale blue eyes, so like her own, spark with a hint of red for just a second. Merry tenses, realizing her daughter is nearly there. She expected she would struggle for a while and then give up and mope around for the rest of the night. Perhaps try again in a day or so. She didn’t expect her daughter to be able to properly shift her vision on her first day of trying. Then again, she hadn’t expected her daughter to uncover her true nature! She clenches her jaw and waits. The eyes flicker red again then nothing.

Arissa gasps as she shifts her vision past her hand. For the barest moment something red appeared in front of her but then was gone. Fear washes through her at the memories of shooting out past the atmosphere and seeing the unfiltered heavens. She tries to breathe and try again. She looks to her shaking hand, tears stinging her eyes, then looks past it. Again there’s a flash of red, then boring pavement and the sour taste of terror in the back of her mouth. Her breath hitches and she hugs her shoulders, bending over her knees and shutting her eyes tight. “I can't do it! I can't!” She cries into the grass.

“What's wrong, honey? Talk to me.”

“…I'm scared! I'm scared of what I'll see.” She shakes her head and lets the tears spill down her cheeks. Her breath hitches behind the smooth curtain of her hair.

“Oh honey.” Merry scoots over and lays her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She pets the back of her head for a moment, encouraging her to sit up. She reaches past the curtain of hair and takes Arissa's chin in that familiar grip, lifting her face a bit. She looks her in the eye, or rather where her eyes are hidden behind the midnight tresses. “You're safe here. I promise you, there's nothing here that can hurt you.”

Arissa lifts her head some. She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “… what I saw. I can't explain it. It was awful.” Her breath catches in her throat, threatening to push the young woman back into tears.

“I know.” Merry says gently as she rubs Arissa's back and smooths the raven hair away from her face. “Earlier, you were looking at everything. You had the ’light’ on full blast. But you're learning. You want it to be just a peek. A dim light. That's why you have to know what it feels like. So you can control it.”

Arissa purses her lips and nods her acknowledgment. She's not sure she'll ever get this, but doesn't want to say that out loud.

“Take a second and then I want you to try again. Remember to breathe.”

She takes in a breath and sits up. Her skin is still prickled from the jolt of fear but she tries to push that away. If she doesn't push, it might not be so scary, right? She takes a deep breath and then lifts her hand. It shakes. Her brows furrow and she closes her eyes, trying calm town.

“Ok. … ok ok ok. I can do this. I got this.” She says through a sigh as she sits up a bit more and pushes her hair out of her eyes. She lifts her hand again and looks closely at her curled fingers. She breathes in then looks past her fingers on the slow exhale.

Merry sits quietly and watches her daughter psych herself up to try again. She bites her cheek, holding her breath as Arissa takes a breath in and lets it out slowly. Her daughter's eyes shift to just the faintest hint of red and stay there. At a glance they would look purple the red is so dim.

Arissa's hand drops away and she stares, elation and fear battling for supremacy in her veins. She's just been shown the door to an entire other world. This might be amazing or horrible.

“Tell me what you see.”

“It's …a red line? It's blurry.” Arissa can see a thin line along the sidewalk. It's glowing lightly with a short plane of red light emanating upward from it. She turns her head, the squiggly line winds it's way around the house. She turns and looks at her mother. She looks normal but has an unmistakable red outline, like she's backlit by a red stage light. Her eyes have red irises. “You look weird. Normal, but have red eyes and an outline.”

“Good.” Merry clears her throat, trying to keep tears of pride at bay. “You're doing great. This is the lowest level of Sight you can activate. Keep going. Breath. Try to focus the line. Describe what you see.”

Arissa turns back. Her heart is pounding but the momentary fear she felt has passed and now she feels an ache. A desire to know more.

“It’s red and has something coming out of it. Looks like an aurora in the sidewalk.” Arissa takes a deep breath with a slow exhale. Her head tilts to one side and she squints for a moment. Nothing changes. She furrows and looks harder before she realizes she fell back into ‘normal’ eye control. She straightens and flexes her eye. Her vision shifts a little so she flexes again. “It feels like a camera lense, but inside my face.”

Merry laughs. “It's a little bit like that, yes.” She crosses her arm over her waist and lifts her other hand to her face, her fingers hovering over her mouth. She’s uncharacteristically fidgety. Her daughter is growing up, and getting the hang of her Sight faster and better than she ever expected. She’s so proud, and a little afraid. Her heart feels like it might burst.

“Hmm. Maybe it’s not an aurora.” Arissa says to herself. She leans in closer, flexing her eyes again. The red line seems to move as her vision slowly comes into focus. The short red wall of light, that had appeared calf height at best before fading out comes into greater focus. It’s taller and made up of a series of lines, each shifting around and interlocking for a moment before twisting again and moving into a new configuration. She sits back and looks up. The wall rises and curls overhead then disappears behind the house. She furrows her brows and looks past the sidewalk, under the ground. The wall continues downwards in a matching curve. “It's a sphere! This is a huge barrier! Oh my god mom, you made this?? It's incredible.” She can't stop the tremors in her hand as she reaches out. The wall is just out of her each so she crawls forward. She hesitates when her fingers get close but only for a second. She pushes her hand towards the shifting barrier, flinching when her fingers pass through as if there's nothing there.

“Yes. We are safe here. As long as this barrier stands no enemies can find us.”

“Wh- Enemies?” She looks over to her mom and freezes, her hand sticking past the barrier.

Her mother looks amazing. She’s sitting cross legged on the lawn, her body larger than normal like it appeared when they summoned her the other day, but there’s so much more now. The dark robes are still black as pitch but now she can see what looks like shifting symbols along the layered edges, each of which glimmers with a tiny bit of red, accentuating the collar and wide belt. The horns, which had looked like one horn curving along each side of her head now look like a series of many horns that jaggedly curl around each other and her head. It looks like a crown of razor tipped lightning. The horns are draped in a series of delicate looking chains that hang around the face and head, trailing past the shoulders. There are several small red jewels linked along the chains that catch the light, giving her mother a dangerous ethereal air. Her face is the same deep soot color but now there is so much more detail. The texture across her upper face shimmers as if a net of charcoal lace were layered over one of gold. It highlights the sharp cheekbones and brightly glowing red irises.

“Oh wow mom. Is that the real you? you look amazing…” her voice trails off and she just stares.

Merry furrows her brows and gives her daughter a stern look. “Arissa, focus. When you leave home you _must_ be careful, especially now that you have this skill.”

“What do you mean?” Arissa settles into the grass, her hands coming to rest on her knees. Her pose unconsciously mirroring her mother's.

Merry leans forward and lifts her daughter’s hand. She sandwiches Arissa’s hand between her own, completely engulfing the younger woman's hand. Her grip is gentle and warm. The very tips of her fingers glow faintly orange. Her billowy sleeves seem to drift around her arms before settling after each movement. “Sight isn't something a human can do, or could ever learn to do. Using it out there will reveal you. It could make you a target. If the wrong people see you do it you will be in danger. So for now, I want you to only peek, like you're doing now.Not anywhere crowded and certainly not when anyone is looking.”

“Is it really that dangerous?”

“Yes. These eyes are not subtle. When you use them anyone who can see you can see them.”

  
“I'll be careful.” Arissa promises, tightening her grip on her mother's hand.

~ 


	6. Swear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pens and promises.

~

The small bell on the door chimes when it opens. Dust bits float sedately through the still air. The smell of stale incense lingers, soaking into everything. Ages worth of dirt cake the front window filtering the light into a dingy orange glow in the front.

The three black draped women hover on the landing, taking a moment to look around. The shortest of the three hops twice, her strawberry blond hair bounces down her back behind a wide black lace accented headband. Her blue eyes dart around the entrance, skimming over the ink pots and crystals, looking for something but not seeing it immediately.

“Ah, welcome back, welcome back! I wondered when I would see you ladies again.” The aged clerk calls out from somewhere deeper in the store.

“I want a sketch book today,” Heather says, bouncing with energy. She looks to her two best friends, her eyes flashing before turning back to the rest of the shop.

“I think they're over there.” Isabelle says, pointing a gloved finger at another section. They link hands and head off into the shop, a beaded curtain clacking as they move into a different area.

Arissa watches them go, the blond leading the taller brunette. Her two friends again look like shadows passing among the shelves as they shop. The image warms her heart, drawing a smile to the corner of her mouth. She turns her eyes to the counter area and steps around the display at the front. She scans deeper into the shop for the clerk. She heard him when he called out but couldn't see him or tell where he was. She steps up to the counter, peeks behind it, raising a delicate eyebrow when he's nowhere to be seen.

He comes around the corner after a second, his shuffling steps scraping slightly as he moves. “Welcome back, young miss,” he greets as he settles into place directly across the glass case from Arissa. “I hope you found your success.” His wobbly voice is low and warm, and his endearment sounds genuine.

“I did.” Arissa says with another faint smile, one that drops as recent memories spring to mind. She and her friends had wanted to summon a demon, and they did. She can still hardly believe they managed it, or that the demon they summoned was her mother. She glances to the alcove where her friends browse then leans closer to the clerk, her voice low and quick. “…you know why I'm here?”

“I do,” he says matching her conspirator tone with a twinkle in his cloudy eyes. “I’ve wrapped them up for you already.” He turns around and opens the ornate cabinet, rummaging for only a moment. He turns back and places three boxes on the counter. They are beautifully carved wooden boxes dyed three different colors and coated with a glossy finish. Each is wrapped in a delicate shimmering ribbon that accents the main box color. One is beautiful deep red with a black ribbon, another is an intense sapphire color with a silver ribbon, and the third is a vivid emerald with a gold ribbon. Arissa stares at them for a moment, struck at their detail and beauty.

“These boxes–”

“Are my gift to you three,” he gently interrupts. “Such beautiful pens deserve beautiful cases.”

Arissa can't stop a tremble in her lip. Her brows push together and up into her forehead. She looks between the boxes and the clerk before saying in a thick voice, “thank you.”

The clerk smiles beatifically for a moment then pushes the boxes at her. “We should finish our business, or they might see.” His voice is still shaky but has a playful tone.

Arissa chuckles and quickly packs them away into the oversized basket she's carrying. She hands him her card and within moments he's handing her a small receipt.

“There's something different about you today.” He says as she pockets the scrap of paper.

“What do you mean?”

“Yes…” He leans over, his cloudy eyes stare in her general direction but seem to point at nothing specific. “Something's changed with you.” He opens his mouth as if to say something else but the the other two walk up and he turns his face towards them. “… with all of you.” There's a heavy pause as he seems to scrutinize the girls. “What have you three accomplished?” He sounds impressed but also like he might reprimand them.

“W–” Arissa starts but then stops.

Her eyes go wide. She's not at a loss for words. There was a hard stop on her speaking. Like something reached into her throat and forcibly silenced her. Her heart races and she can feel cold creep across her chest, spreading out from her throat. She takes a shaky breath before trying a different response. “…that …isn't your business.” She manages to say weakly, a bit of a shake now in her voice. “Your business is to sell your wares.”

“We want this one today.” Heather puts an ornate leather tome on the counter. The design is a beautiful mandala with colors that fade from deep teal in the center to navy blue at the edges. The design has a few lines of painted gold accents around the outer edge making it look like an interesting sun motif, except for the colors.

The clerk faces Arissa for a long moment then blinks and smiles to all three, his hand waving across the counter to find the book. He lifts it and runs his fingers along the edge. His expression darkens before he asks “are you certain this is your selection?”

“What? Yes! It's just a sketchbook! …isn't it?” Heather whines. She glances at the other two women, a sharp line forming between her eyebrows. Her thin lip quivers and she looks like she's about to burst into tears.

The clerk laughs merrily and lays the book down again. “I'm sorry dears, I couldn't help but tease.”

Heather lifts the book and clutches it to her chest.

“That wasn't funny.” Isabelle says sharply, narrowing her eyes before putting a hand on her hip and the other around her petite friend.

The clerk apologizes again while ringing up the purchase. They pay and head out.

Arissa moves to step away from the counter but the clerk reaches across and grabs her wrist. His grip is warm and soft, but not gentle and quickly tightens enough to hurt.

She looks back, her entire arm suddenly tingling. Cold follows the tingles and a panicked sweat springs up down her back.

Before she can say anything he pulls her closer, jarring her into the counter. He turns his face to hers. His eyes, usually cloudy and blind, are now crystal clear, shining a brilliant leafy green surrounded by and shot through with gold. His eyes bore into hers.

She wants to cry out, to stop what’s happening but she can't move. His crackled amber and green eyes have her rooted in place. She can't break free.She might drown in those beautiful enigmatic eyes, if she doesn't drown in her fear first. Her ears ache with expanding pressure, like they need to pop.

“I won't pry for details or ask things you _can't_ answer, but I must warn you: Move through this world with caution.” His voice is shockingly steady and low. “What you’ve done cannot be undone. The mask you once had is **no longer enough**.” His voice slides across the counter, sharp and quiet and meant just for her.

The warning reverberates through her heart, down to her very bones.

The spell breaks when he releases her wrist. He stands bent again behind the counter, smiling that blank pleasant smile with clouded eyes, as if nothing unusual happened.

She takes a half step away, dizzy and with her heart in her throat. She hurries out of the shop, joining her two friends on the sidewalk that were just turning to confirm she had followed them out.

“So, where to now?” Isabelle asks, oblivious to the panicked adrenaline pumping through her best friend’s veins.

“Lets go to the park. Mom packed us a picnic.” Arissa grabs Isabelle's hand and pulls, heading towards the subway. The cold sweat on her back warms again in the summer sun.

Isabelle turns and pulls Heather along too, so she isn't lost to the city crowd.

~

The afternoon ticks by. The sun drifts across the sky sometimes hidden by clouds but mostly bright. The three somberly dressed women sit under a large tree at the edge of the cleared area of the park. It's late summer and there's some people there but it's mostly empty this time of day. The three have laid out a large thin blanket and are lounging around, just relaxing. Their shoes and the basket sit just outside the blanket.

Heather sits cross legged with her new book in her lap scratching a pencil across the first page. She sketches out the figures before her.

Arissa lays sprawled between the two women, twisted so she's half on her side, half on her back. Her long hair splays across the blanket like a wave. Her dark corset highlights the flare from her waist to her hip, which is then exaggerated by her ruffled pile of skirts. “Then he said the mask I _used_ to have isn't enough anymore.”

Isabelle sits leaning above Arissa, brushing her friends hair back or tracing the features of her face. She gently moves Arissa's hand or a lock of her hair, designing her friend's pose for the artist.

“That clerk is super weird.” Isabelle says supportively. She brushes the backs of her fingers down Arissa’s cheek then shifts the collar of Arissa's short cardigan to better cover her shoulder.

“What does that even mean: Your ‘mask’?” Heather asks over the edge of her book. Her pencil scratches away while her eyes dart between her two friends and the page.

“His eyes changed. They weren't cloudy. He looked right at me and I couldn't move. There’s something other about him. I should have Looked.” Arissa sighs, letting her head turn to the side.

“Wait, does that mean your gift is active??” Heather let's the book droop in her grip.

“Is that what I saw yesterday?” Isabelle tilts her head, tucking a lock of her warm brown hair behind her ear.

“What??” Heather sits up more, her sketchbook forgotten in her lap.

“You saw me??” Arissa turns her head then sits up onto her elbows.

“It was weird. I was reading, and then I looked up and,” she sighs, looking confused, “it was just… I just KNEW you were looking at me. But you weren’t there. I just knew it was true.”

“Yesterday…” Arissa sits up fully and looks around for onlookers but they are alone. She sits facing her two friends and pushes her hair away from her face before speaking. “A lot happened yesterday. I was in the bathroom trying to get it to work.” She huffs a laugh at herself. “I probably shouldn't have pushed it.”

Isabelle offers a supportive hand. Arissa accepts it with a smile.

“It worked. Everything looked so different. It was like looking through a telescope the way it zoomed around. But it went through solid walls! I saw you reading.” She looks to her friend. “You had a blue outline. Kinda like a halo, but kinda like light from inside you.”

“Weird. What else did you see?”

“Space? I think. It was confusing. I was looking at you one second, and you looked up, then the next second I zoomed forward again and saw stars.” Her grip tightens on her friend's hand. Her eyes unfocus as her memories bubble up. “There were so many in the sky. Then I turned and saw the sun.” Her voice turns hoarse as she pushes the words out. “It’s a monster. Reaching to earth. Stretching and almost touching. Made from light, and heat, and Need. It was horrible, and I couldn't look away.”

Heather scoots closer and takes Arissa's free hand. “That must have been scary.”

The grip brings her out of her memories and she lowers her head for a second, getting her breath. “It was. Mom stopped me after a little bit. Then she showed me how to control it. …well, she kept saying ’peek’ so I think it's still not fully active.”

Isabelle squeezes her hand gently. “So you can control it? That's good!”

“Only a little bit. I literally figured out how to turn it ’on’ last night.”

“Does it hurt?” Heather’s hair falls over one shoulder when she tilts her head. The sparkling golden locks stand out in sharp relief against the black of her shirt.

“No.” Arissa grins at her two friends. “Do you want to see?”

They both gasp and chime in unison “yes!!”

Arissa giggles and looks around again. They are still alone. A few joggers dot the path but unless they veer deep into the grassy area they won't hear the conversation. Arissa takes a calming breath and looks at her empty hand. Then she looks past her hand, twisting that tiny muscle in her eye to shift her vision. Her sight flexes for a second then settles. She looks up at her friends and stares. Isabelle stares back. That eerie blue backlight is there again. Her eyes seem misted at first but a closer look reveals it's her eyes glowing with the same cool blue as her outline.

“What does it look like?” Isabelle asks, watching her friend stare.

“Like yesterday. You kinda glow? It's weird.” She looks over her friends face and around the edge of her. She reaches forward and picks at a few strands of hair. The glow follows and highlights them as if they too are backlit. “It's like there's a light on behind you. It's mostly on your head. And your eyes are glowing. They're blue. It looks like you have a neon light in your eyes. Do things look different?”

“No,” she looks at her hands and then her friends, “everything looks the same as usual.”

Arissa turns her eyes to Heather and her jaw drops. Her friend has always been pretty, with her traditionally attractive blond hair and blue eyes, but now she has an interweaving series of blurry lines on her skin that come up from her collar, flow up her neck and weave across her face and eyes. Her eyes now glow burning orange instead of blue. “Oh wow,” slips out absently.

“Do I look different?” Heather puts her sketchbook aside and scoots closer. She squints her eyes as she examines Arissa's face. “Your eyes are purple right now.”

“Yours are orange.” Arissa reaches out and lifts Heather’s hand. “And you have lines on you. On your hands.” Her fingertips seem illuminated from the inside with that ember glow. The glow fades into the lines on the back of her hands and disappears under her sleeve cuff. Arissa pushes it up to expose the wrist. The glowing lines flow up her friend's arm, disappearing again under her sleeve. “There's lines on your neck too. I think they connect.”

Heather looks at her hands. They just look like her hands, but she believes her friend. She shifts and pulls off her long sleeve bolero to reveal the tank top underneath. She looks at her pale hand and arm, wishing she could see what her friend saw. “I can't see them. Describe it?” She shoves her hand, her whole arm really, at her friend.

“It's glowing orange. Like coals after a fire,” Arissa begins, looking at her friend’s hand closely. She taps her friend's fingers, as if testing for heat.

There's a tickle at the back of Isabelle's mind. She shakes her head, as if she could dislodge the quickly rising sense of wrong. She feels like Arissa is wrong. Like she's wrong. Not what her friend is saying, but the simple fact of her is not true. Isabelle’s breath gets rougher and she tries to push the feeling away. This is her best friend. She's known this woman her entire life. How could she be a lie? She tunes in again as her friend continues speaking. Arissa's voice washes over Isabelle and the sense of wrong eases. The things she says sound right and true. She looks into her friend's face, her eyes shining purple, and almost feels like herself again.

Arissa holds up Heather’s hand while examining the glow. “It's deep. Like when you put your fingers over a flashlight. Then here,” she touches the back of her friend’s hand, “it turns into lines. They swirl around each other as they go up your arm.” She traces one of the lines up Heather’s forearm, past the elbow and up her bicep, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake. “Your eyes are different. They're orange. The same orange as the lines.”

“Nothing looks different.”

“What about when you go to draw?”

Heather blinks and her eyes look down to the forgotten book. She picks it and the pencil up. Her fingers trace the quick sketch on the first page. The lines run across the page, intersecting and darkening to show shape and shadow. It's so good she can hardly believe it came from her hand. As she watches the page shimmers, the image from her mind’s eye lingering in her sight, overlaying the empty paper in some places. She reaches forward. The pencil scratches across the page again with hardly a thought. The image coalesces quickly and less than a minute later the rough sketch is a clear image of her two friends, in that intimate moment together, sprawled across the blanket as they were.

“This is amazing.” Isabelle looks at the sketch, her finger tracing the edge of the paper. “I can see your heart on the page. I can see the truth in this.

“What do you see?”

“We are your best friends.” Her eyes get misty but her voice is steady. “You love us.”

Heather sniffs and tosses the book aside as she throws her arms around the two other women. “You are! I love you guys!” She buries her face between them as they wrap their arms around her.

“And we love you,” Isabelle says, one arm around Heather, the other around Arissa. She pets both of her friend's heads as they squeeze one more hug then sit up slightly.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Arissa blurts out suddenly. “I have gifts for you. Close your eyes.” She stretches to grab the basket, dragging it onto the blanket then fishes out the boxes. She turns back, setting one down in front of each of them before they can fall from her grip. “Ok, you can look.”

They open their eyes and gasp.

“It's beautiful!” Isabelle puts a hand on her heart and looks to her friend, her eyes glossy.

“Wow, this is amazing.” Heather lifts the blue box in front of her gingerly. She runs her fingers along the carvings, admiring the detail.

“Open them!” Arissa can barely contain herself. Isabelle and Heather’s eyebrows raise and they open them in unison. Their eyes nearly bulge from their faces and they both stare speechless at at the beautifully carved pens. “I thought you would like something nice to ink your drawings with,” she says to Heather. “And you will need a good pen for when you add your pages to the Book of Kent,” she says to Isabelle with a smile. Her eyes stray to the three pens in their boxes. “We are a set, and these were a set, and now we each have one.” She opens her box and lifts the pen out. The garnet sparkles in the inconstant sunlight. It still fits her hand as if it were tailored just for it. Heather and Isabelle lift theirs out, gripped as if to write.

A buzzing energy slides up their arms, winding its way around their shoulders and settling across their hearts. Isabelle flips the grip on her pen, holding it like a wand with the green gem facing up at her friends. The other two mirror the grip immediately. They hold their pens up, gems nearly touching.

“We are best friends. We love each other. Nothing will come between us.” Her voice rings with Truth in their ears.

“Nothing.” Heather and Arissa confirm. As soon as they confirm the statement the buzzing energy increases, pulling and twisting.

Arissa watches a faint glow pull from each of their chests like a cloud of smoke. Blue light from Heather, red from herself, and green from Isabelle. The cloud winds down their arms, tightening and twisting into a string when it curls around their elbows. The string continues down to their hands where the three strands weave and braid together. The tri–colored cord wraps loosely around the wrist each girl holds up then finally settles, hanging like a bangle on each of them, with a thin braided ribbon connecting one to the other.

“What was–” Isabelle starts but then stops. She stares at her wrist. She blinks hard and brings her hand up to her face for a second.She holds her wrist at Arissa. “Can you see this?”

Arissa watches as the braided cord between them stretches and flexes to allow as much space as needed. She takes ahold of the threaded cord where it leaves her wrist and runs it through her fingers, looking closely at it then up to Isabelle. It feels smooth and soft like satin in her grip.

“Yes. It looks kind of like a bracelet. What do you see?”

“It's faint. And I can't see it when I look right at it, only kinda for a second out of the corner of my eye, but I Know it's there.” She mimics Arissa's move, as if to grab something near her wrist. It passes through her fingers like smoke.“I don't feel anything.”

“It's weird. It's braided and wraps around our wrists. They each connect. Just now, when we made the promise, I saw light come from each of us. It twisted into a cord then braided together into this. I think this is part of our souls.”

“I meant it,” Isabelle says, “nothing will come between us.”

“So did I.” Arissa pulls Isabelle into another hug, holding tight for emphasis. She stays leaning into Isabelle’s side and looks over at Heather who has been furiously scribbling in her book.

She glances up again and grins as if caught. Her sly smile pulls a matching smile to Arissa's face as she waves at the basket. “We should eat. Your mom packed a picnic, and I want to know what she sent.”

~


	7. Secrets Revealed

* * *

~

That familiar bell chimes again as the door opens. Arissa stands on the step a moment looking over the now familiar shop. The stale musty smell wraps around her like a comforting blanket. She moves through the shop confidently. Her dress swishes around the displays brushing the corners but never actually disturbing the items. She heads straight for the glass counter and the clerk, who seems to be dusting things with a soft looking rag.

“Ok!” She slams her hand on counter. The display jumps and crashes back onto the glass in a ruckus of tiny jars. Arissa jumps at the sound, embarrassed that it was much louder than she intended. She hurriedly picks up the jars, righting the display as best she can.

“Hello again, young miss!” The clerk doesn't seem fazed at all, his hand steadily brushing the cloth over the counter as if nothing happened. Arissa clears her throat and continues, setting her fist carefully on the counter.

“I figure if you were really a threat you would have just attacked the other day, since I clearly don't know what I'm doing with …all this.” She motions to herself, eyebrow raised in a somewhat self deprecating manner. 

“Astute observation,” he raises his eyebrow in response as he cleans.

“Instead, you warned me.”

“I did,” he keeps cleaning, seemingly unbothered by her pestering. Silence stretches out as it becomes clear he won't continue.

“I need to know why. Why warn me? What do you get out of it? Who are you? Can you teach me anything? And also, I don't know what to call you. What's your name?” She taps her finger on the glass with each question, looking hard into his cloudy eyes.

“Hm.” He stops cleaning at her barrage of inquiries. His sightless eyes stare over her shoulder. He sighs, head bowed slightly. “Those are all very good and dangerous questions, Young Miss. I won't answer them here. We can't know who would overhear.”

Her brows scrunch together. She looks around. The store is deserted, like always. Without another word he goes to the front door and locks it. Then clicks the open sign off and flips the welcome sign to the ’come back later’ side. Arissa raises her brows. She may have made a mistake.

“If you would,” he says as he sweeps past her, turning the corner behind the counter easily. He pulls the curtain aside and holds it for just a moment after he passes.

She follows and stands in the doorway, looking around before she enters. The small room looks like a more crowded continuation of the shop. Shelves hide two walls with unmarked boxes or several count of various items, presumably waiting to be displayed. Hip high piles of boxes fill up the rest of the space that's not taken by the desk. There's are a few trails going from the entry. One to the desk, one to the shelved walls, and one to another door on the other side of the room. Her eyes stop on the little trails between the boxes. A thin, barely there sigil can be seen peeking out from under the piles. It seems to be covering the whole of the floor. She would have stepped on it if she hadn't stopped exactly in the doorway. Her brows twitch and she looks to the clerk, waiting for something but she isn't sure what.

“Good eye,” he doesn't seem to be looking at her but it's clear he knows why she stopped. He sound formal when he says, “you are invited.”

She cocks her head then slowly pushes her foot across the line. There's a faint pressure and then a release, like when her ears pop going down a steep hill in the car. She takes one step into the room then lets the curtain fall closed.

“You said ’good eye,’ what did you mean by that?” She narrows her eyes at the clerk, what else does he know?

“Not many can see the barrier there. They would simply have walked in uninvited. But you stopped.”

“…it's rude to walk on a sigil, isn't it?”

“Yes, that it is, that it is. But you *saw* the mark.” He leans on the desk, hands coming together loosely by his knees.

“It's right there! How could I not see it?”

“Is it? Look closer and tell me what you see.”

She gives him a skeptic look but does as he asks, turning her eyes again to the faint lines. She takes another step deeper into the small room and kneels down to examine the sigil closely. The lines are transparent and blurry, like they're out of focus, which is weird since she doesn't need glasses. Bits of sooty darkness emanate from the lines then zip off, disappearing like tiny black shooting stars.“How is this possible… My sight is off!” She brushes her fingers over the weirdly evaporating sigil. The line blurs further then reforms & continues.

“Have you ever muted a television and still heard the sound going? I believe that's what's happening to you. You're Sight may be partially hidden but it will never be ’off’ again.”

She's only half listening. Arissa flexes her eye, activating her Sight to look at the sigil properly. She can feel energy flowing through her, causing a tingle in her eyes. It feels cool, like when she chews a mint and takes a breath. She looks down again and her breath catches in her throat. It's beautiful. The blurry sooty lines are revealed as a complex interweaving of thousands of smaller strands of every color. Tiny runes shift and drift like screensavers in the open spaces between the lines. The lines themselves look brighter and sharper the closer they are to her. As her hand moves near the lines the colors intensify as if excited by her presence.

She doesn't notice the clerk’s sharp gasp, his suddenly tensed posture, or his labored breaths. Or that he grips the edge of the desk in a white knuckled hold.“What does this sigil do? How does it protect you?” she asks, oblivious.

“It– It transports.” He huffs and shakes his head before continuing. He sounds strangled, like he can't move and he's trying not to speak, but the words are coming anyway. “The– uninvited. It transports them away.” He clears his throat, coughing after the last word. She looks up at his struggle. Her eyes widen at the sight.

His features are largely the same, but shine with youth. His face, where before it didn't have an inch of unwrinkled skin, is now smooth. There aren't even laugh lines on his cheeks. The scraggly hair has been replaced with soft looking wavy locks, though they are still so pale they seem bleached. From the back of his head sprout what look like horns. At least, they look like they used to be horns. Two wrist–thick outcroppings appear from his hair, the actual base is hidden by soft locks. They curve around and up, missing his ears by barely an inch. Both stop with stumped ends but at asymmetrical lengths. They look like they were sharply jagged breaks at one time but have since been worn smooth. One ends just at his ear, the other continues almost to the top of his head, narrowing to a thumb’s width just before the shattered end. His brows scrunch up together over his still cloudy eyes as he lowers to kneel in front of her. He reaches out and grips her shoulders, the touch so gentle it's barely there.

She can feel her energy flow over to him. She watches as his features flesh out slightly. The hollows in his cheeks fill and his face looks less sunken. He looks healthier and stronger than before he touched her, and now has a faint glowing outline centered on his head. Is that because of her power?? His eyes clear a moment after contact. They are the same beautiful emerald and amber she saw the other day.

“Your eyes changed…”

“_This_ is why you must be wary.” He lowers his head slightly and clears his throat again, almost coughing, then looks back, his expression serious. “Young Miss, there is so much power in you, but you are completely open. You have no shield. No protection. Even with this simple touch your power flows through me. How you were hidden at all, let alone for so long, is a miracle. This much power is a beacon. _You_ are a beacon. The longer you stay in this world the more you are in danger.”

“What are you?” She can barely get her head around how beautiful he is with her sight compared to without. Except for size and skin color her mother didn't look so different. His brows twitch and press further together. She can feel energy flowing over her skin towards him like water but she's not sure how to stop or redirect it. He looks away, his grip tightening the longer he remains silent. His arms shake and finally he coughs out a breath. Sooty smoke swirls from his mouth. His eyes close tightly, pushing tears down his cheeks. He whines as if in pain. Worry creeps up her spine as she watches him struggle, unsure what's happening or how to help.

“It's ok. You don't have to answer.” She reaches up and takes ahold of his arms at the elbow.As soon as she speaks he sags in her grip. She catches him as he slumps forward, helping him down onto his side on the floor. She helps him fall carefully, holding his shoulder and head gently.

She marvels at how little he weighs. It feels like she's laying a child down with how light and pliable he is. He looks exhausted. She stuffs a folded cloth under his head as a makeshift pillow and lays his arm over his side. Almost as soon as she lets go the glowing outline starts to dim and the healthy plumpness of his features deflate. She sits nearby, hugging her knees, tears threatening the back of her eyes. Her voice is barely there as she asks again, “what was that earlier, when I asked you about the sigil?”

“I answered you. With truth.” He reaches his hand out and she takes it, her fingers hooking into his grip between his thumb and index finger. She can feel her power slide down her arm and up into his. A smile pulls at the edge of his mouth. It's the strangest sensation she's ever felt. She can feel her energy settle into every corner of him. She can feel how exhausted and pleased he is, as if his body were an echo of her own. His glow returns and he looks stronger again the longer they hold hands. “I didn't want to tell you because it wasn't important. The sigil wasn't why I invited you here, but I had to. Silence burned, and lies turn to ash on my tongue.”

“I don't understand. Was it something I did?”

He grips her fingers, sitting up a bit, “No, it is your power.” His voice softens, offering reassurance with his next words. “Whatever you are, when we are near I cannot lie to you and I _must_ answer. When we touch I feel rejuvenated.” He slumps back onto the pillow. “You are glorious.” 

“Why would you seek this,” she shakes their connected hands gently, “if it might hurt you that much?”

His smile grows and he sighs lightly, “it's only painful if I don't answer or lie. Otherwise it is very pleasant. I feel young again. You noticed my eyes earlier.”

“They were cloudy, but then cleared up.”

“Yes. I am old. So old, and much of my power is gone. It is nice to feel young again, even if it comes with a risk.”

“Why did you warm me the other day? What do you get out of it?” She rests her chin on her knee and watches him. She can feel him getting tired in the echo of her power.

“You are so sweet and innocent. But this world is dangerous. There are things out there. Monsters, and worse, that you do not want to catch you.” He blinks like he's fighting sleep. “I don't get anything from warning you. I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I will be careful,” she promises.

He sighs in relief, eyes closing lightly. “I am tired…”

She pets his head gently, pulling at that muscle to turn her eyes ’off’. He looks like an old man again, crumpled to the ground with a wadded up cloth for a pillow. “I still don't know your name. What can I call you?”

“Anything you like, Young Miss.” His eyes didn't open as his answer drifted to her.

Her heart aches at the frail picture he makes. She looks away, chewing on her lip. “I don't want to assign you a name, that doesn't feel right.” She looks back when he doesn't answer. She can't say why but she's immensely relieved to see his chest moving as he breathes. He’s just asleep.

She sits there next to him for a few minutes thinking over what he said. She needs more answers and the only other person who has them is at her house.

  
After another moment she extracts her hand and carefully lays his arm down. She covers him with another cloth for a blanket and leaves as quietly as she can.

~


	8. Skirmish

~

Arissa walks down the road, clutching the strap of her backpack in an uncharacteristically nervous way. She glances at the few people she passes on the street, trying to not be noticed. She feels exposed. The clerk said she had no protection, that she was entirely open. She wants to get home as soon as she can. The train ride had been nerve wracking enough but she only has another few blocks before her neighborhood, and then her house is on the first street. She hurries past an alley, glancing behind her to check if she's being followed. It looks clear.

“Sinner.” A man says a second later, too close behind her. 

Arissa jumps and turns again, thankful she held her yelp in. Was he in the alley? He came out of nowhere! His ragged clothing hangs off a too–thin frame. His expression twists with disgust. He looks like he might spit at her. Dirty tangles of hair poke from under an equally dirty beanie hat. All his clothes share the same thick layer of grime making it look like he's been out in the city's elements well over a year.His clear icy blue eyes stare ahead of him. He isn't looking at her. That distant focus reminds her of the clerk. His head sways side to side, like a bird or a wolf scenting the air.

Arissa takes a step back, moving towards home, away from the obviously homeless man.

  
His head swivels around and points directly at her.A knife of fear stabs into her heart, leaving her skin buzzing and a sharp bitter taste in her mouth. “Your sin must be purged from the earth.”

Her eyes bulge and she doesn't wait for another word. She takes off running down the sidewalk. All decorum and wish to be invisible burned away by the all encompassing need to be **not where that guy is**. She can hear his shoes slapping the sidewalk behind her. Her lungs burn from the sudden exertion but she ignores it. She can't let him catch her, she just knows it.

“Sinner!”His voice calls from behind her, ringing with something deeper, harsher than a human’s conviction. “Be cleansed by the Light of the Father.”

She glances over her shoulder, her eyes shifting to use her Sight. “Ohmygod.”

Light suffuses his being, centered on his head. She can't see his face, the brightness around him is blinding. Like trying to look at the sun. “Stay away from me!” She barely remembers to look where she's running and almost slams full on into the side of a building. She bounces off the gritty bricks and heads down the alley, slightly dazed. Her chest hurts.

“Repent, sinner.”

His footfalls sound closer.

“Get away!” She turns another corner trying to get back to a populated street. If she can get to people she can hide. The pain in her chest sharpens, feeling like a vice on her lungs.

“Demon summoner!” He grabs her by the shirt. His grip stops her momentum cold.

“Ow! Let me go!” Tightness stretches across her shoulders. She can barely breathe.

“You must atone for your sins.” He yanks her back, spinning her around and slams her into a wall. Her head bounces off the concrete with an ugly crack. He grabs a handful of her shirt and presses his fist into her chest, and her into the unyielding wall.

“No!! Get away!” She's drowning. She can't breathe. He's too close. Everything is too close! She pushes at his arm ineffectively. Tears blur her vision but she couldn't see anything anyway. The light from his head blots everything out. What is he?? 

“Be cleansed!” He pulls a knife out of nowhere. She can see the ornate guard and a short wickedly curved blade. In a dissociative moment Arissa thinks it's beautiful ...but then the blade lights on fire!

“Aaaahh!!” She struggles to get away. She pushes but all her efforts seem in vain. 

For a scant second the world falls away. Silence and stillness suffuse every part of her. She feels a thick cord laying in her hands. It's smooth and strong but flexible. Her fingers barely close around it. Without thinking she tightens her hold on that cord and yanks. Her voice burns in her throat.“**Mom**!!”

The heat from the knife’s fire disappears just as shocking cold blooms on her side. Her heart freezes in her chest and cold rushes over her skin.

A flash of white hot light appears just behind the glowing homeless man, accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder. Arissa's mother appears with a roar.“Mal’akhiel! Get away from her!”

His grip disappears and he jumps back, dancing on his toes away from the lightning as if the ground were hot. He turns repeatedly, looking around frantically for something he clearly can't see.

Arissa leans against the wall, trying to stay upright but she's so heavy all of a sudden. She slides down the wall, the beautiful knife sticking in her gut. She sags when she finally hits the ground, her eyes turning to the brawl about to happen not two feet away. So many questions swirl around her head. How can he see with so much light surrounding his head? He looks like an angel. Except he tried to kill her. Do angels do that? Her ears ring from the thunder but that doesn't matter as she watches her mother. She is so beautiful in her demon form, and has a look of murder on her face. Somehow that expression eases the tension in Arissa's heart.

“Show yourself, Demon!” The shake in his voice gives away his fear. He turns around trying to spot his enemy, who turns as well, smoothly staying behind him and presumably out of sight.

Merry reaches into the light and yanks the angel’s head back. There is a distinct sizzle and the blinding light dims. She holds him by horns as if he were a rampaging bull.

“Aah! Holy father! Help me!” His arms flail in front of him, one failed punch after another.

Merry takes one step toward the building then slams his head into the wall. The sick sound of concrete hitting bone echoes around the alley.

Chunks of wall crumble onto Arissa. She looks up to see the man has horns, just like the clerk. But his are whole. They form a complete halo over his head which glows brilliantly. The curved bone has a jagged chunk missing from where it shattered against the wall. The broken part is so dim there's almost no light coming from it.

“Don't you touch her!”

Arissa has never heard such absolute hatred in her mother's voice. The dry rage scrapes over every nerve, leaving fissures in her heart and blisters on her soul. Arissa never wants to hear that wretched voice again, yet she loves it. She wants to swath herself in it. Wants to wrap that hateful voice around herself like a blanket and never come out.

Merry yanks the angel to the ground by the head. A growl emanates from her chest as she slams his head into the asphalt. Chips of halo fly in every direction. The light dims further, flickering but hanging on.

“No! Father! Do not forsake me!” He cries brokenly as he tries to crawl away, but Merry has him by the horns. He ends up flopping on the ground weakly, like a fish fallen from a tank.

“**Never**! **Touch**! **Her**!” Merry slams his head down at each word, bellowing at the man who is clearly defeated. The circle of bone breaks on the last strike and the failing light winks out.

Arissa can see him now. He looks so much like the clerk her skin goes cold again. Bleached wavy hair falls over equally bleached skin. His eyes are clear but he doesn't look at anything. He seems blind. Where her clerk’s eyes are emerald this angel’s eyes are blue, but that's one of the few differences. He used to have horns curling into a circle above his head but they have shattered. He lays there weeping inconsolably, no longer struggling.

Merry rises and throws him aside as if he weighs nothing. He bounces off the wall across the alley and lands in a sick heap. She kneels in front of her daughter, touching a hand to Arissa's shoulder, then her arms, as if checking for other injuries.

“We have to go. Can you walk?”

“What is he??” Arissa stares at the weeping man. He lays sprawled across the alley, his limbs laying however they fell when he was thrown. His sobs are quiet but unmistakable. Arissa looks back then stares at her mother. She looks like her human self. Thin, pale skin, blue eyes and blond hair up in a messy–but–done look that is more messy since the fight. When did she turn off her Sight?

“Arissa,” Merry grips her chin and forces Arissa to focus on her. “Can you walk?”

“No.” She pants, realizing just how weird everything feels. Her stomach feels cold. All of her does. She can't tell if she can't feel anything past her waist, or if the cold is blotting it out. “It's cold. Hurts.”  


“I'm going to remove the knife.”

“Ok…”

“This is going to hurt, baby. I need you to brace.”

“…ok…” Her voice sounds tiny to her ears.

Merry presses near the wound and grips the ornate handle. Her hand sizzles at the contact. She doesn't let go but it's clear it hurts. She growls and pulls the knife out carefully. The blade comes out shining. Perfectly clean, like it's made of light. It disintegrates almost immediately leaving only a tarnished looking handle. Merry tosses it away carelessly. Arissa's unconscious body slumps against the wall. Merry picks her up, grabbing the almost forgotten backpack, and walks out of the alley.

~


	9. Sacrifices

~

  
Arissa finds herself in inky blackness. She doesn't have a body to speak of, but then without a body there's nothing that hurts. She remembers she had been stabbed. Did she die? She feels a slight pull upward at the center of herself. She looks around for a source but there's nothing. Just more blackness. Maybe she did die. Would she remember it if she did?

  
The pull gets stronger and she looks up. A glimmer of light shines in the darkness. Inconstant in the black, but there it is again! It looks like light coming through water. She moves up with the pull, towards the light.

As she gets closer the light gets stronger and her out of body feeling diminishes. She can feel her feet. Weird that it's just her feet and not her whole body. They are dangling. A beat later she can feel her knees. They're being held. Then she feels an arm around her back. If there's an arm around her back and her feet are dangling she must be in someone's arms.

She opens her eyes to slits. Her vision swims for a second before her mother's face comes into focus. Her mother's eyes shine bright red but everything else is normal. The whites of her eyes are white. She watches Arissa closely. Her mouth is a thin line and Arissa can't tell if the expression is slow simmering anger or fear.  


Merry tightens her grip on her daughter and takes one step, passing over the unseeable line circling their house. Her eyes watch the young woman unblinking as they pass the barrier.

Pain shoots up Arissa's side and down her legs.She chokes on a yelp. It comes out almost a cough. She drops her head back onto her mother's shoulder and tries to breathe shallow little breaths. The pain makes her dizzy. Nausea follows quickly and forces her out of her mother's grip. She lands gracelessly on her face. She crawls to her knees holding her middle as she huffs and then vomits into the grass. She barely notices her mother pulling her hair away from her face or petting her back gently.

  
A few moments later Arissa lays in a heap, exhausted and drained. Merry lifts her, careful of jostling her wound and carries her inside. She lays Arissa on the couch and immediately heads into the kitchen.

Arissa tries to wait for the world to stop spinning. She watches her mother disappear and wonders at how silent she's being. The one time she scraped her knee as a child her mother wouldn't stop fussing about ’where does it hurt’ and to ’be careful’. She can't stand the silence so she fills it herself, calling weakly.

“What was that?”

She can hear cabinets opening and shutting, things clattering from being moved sharply. Her mother remains silent. Arissa pushes away her nausea as her mother returns, arms full.

“Was he an angel?”

Merry still doesn't answer as she kneels next to the couch, setting her armful on the floor.

Arissa watches, eyes widening when she realizes none of the items her mother brought are bandages. “ …an angel tried to kill me. oh my god.”

“Don't be vulgar. And don't take it personally. They get territorial about their hunting ground.”

“Don't take it personally? I've been stabbed!” Arissa shouts weakly. She pants, pain radiating from her core. She grimaces and squirms, wishing for the pain to stop. She looks back to her mother, brows furrowing. “Why didn't we go to a hospital?”

“They can't help you.” The answer came quickly. A matter of fact.  


“Am I going to die??”

“You are not going to die.” Merry grabs her daughter's chin, the gesture unraveling some of the tension in Arissa's heart.

Her lip trembles but she trusts her mother. “Ok.”

Merry lifts an ornate silver mirror and presses the back of it into Arissa's side, right where the knife went in.

Arissa can hear sizzling but suddenly feels nothing. It's a good thing she was already laying, the lack of pain left her her boneless. She can tell the wound is still there but it feels muted, like the pain is somehow blocked.

Merry puts her daughter's hand on the mirror to hold it in place. She then lifts a potted lavender to her face, whispering into the small leaves. She waits a second then grips the stems firmly and yanks them from the dirt, roots and all. The plant blackens in her hand. She lifts the mirror and smears the ash into the wound.

Arissa could weep for the relief. She sags further into the couch and almost smiles.

“Tell me what happened.” Merry watches her child closely as her hands pull a long length of yarn from a bundle. She starts unraveling each end into the smaller component threads.

“The clerk was right.”

“What do you mean?”

“He said I should be careful. That my mask wasn't good enough anymore.”

Merry stops moving and asks, “’your mask’… When was this? Who is this clerk?” Her hands lower into her lap.

“Today. The clerk at the bookshop. He never told me his name. He said he couldn't lie to me and it was a miracle I had been hidden at all.”

“Hm.” Merry narrows her eyes. “I would like to meet this ’clerk’ of yours.”

“He looked like that angel, but old. He called me a beacon. What does that mean?”

Merry lifts the mirror and let's out a ’tsh’ of frustrated air. She tosses the cord aside. “It means we are in more danger than I want.”

“But you killed that angel?”

“He's not dead.” Merry shakes her head in a short negation and sighs. “I cut him off from the rest, but others will come.”

“Cut him off?”

“They are connected. Like a kind of hive mind. They will investigate the loss of their kin.”

“Can we fight them?”

“I can fight them …most of them,” Merry gently pets Arissa's hair away from her face, “but I shouldn't.” She looks at her daughter, this tiny beautiful life she managed to create, and wants nothing more than to shield her from all suffering and pain. Her heart aches with pride and love and fear when she sees her daughter growing each day.

“Why not? What's wrong?” Arissa leans into the palm, her eyes close in a long blink.

Merry hesitates. When she speaks her voice is soft and she doesn't look Arissa in the eye. “When I go to battle I bring ruination. To my enemies, yes, but to everything else too.” She looks Arissa in the eye. “If I fought, it would raze the city. Everything we have here, everything and everyone you have ever known would be utterly destroyed and I do not want that.”

  
Arissa lifts her hand and places it over her mother's. “Then…What do we do?”

“We hide.”She pulls the mirror away to reveal the bloody cut still looking ugly and angry. “But first we get that last bit of knife out of you. It will draw them to us. I'm sorry honey, this will hurt again.” Merry sets the mirror aside and shifts into her demon form. Her arm shifts further and disintegrates, turning into an inconstant billowy tendril. The tentacle like cloud reaches down into the wound.

  
Arissa yells at the sudden pain. It doesn't just hurt at the stab site. It hurts _everywhere_! Like every nerve she has is on fire! She grabs at the smokey arm and yanks it away, gripping what might be a wrist but another arm forms immediately, as if it split from the first. Two hands grip just above her knee, keeping her legs pressed into couch. Another arm presses across her rib cage, pinning her chest down. How are there so many arms? She holds the wrist in a white knuckled grip. A final hand covers her mouth, muffling her shouts of pain.

Just like that pain is gone, like it never existed. Merry holds a shining shard in her fingers. It glows brilliantly, just like the knife.She growls, her indistinct fingers squeeze until the light winks out. The shard looks like glass for a moment then turns to ash and disintegrates.

Arissa lays there, panting from the pain’s sudden appearance and then disappearance. She sounds winded when she says, “that wasn't so bad.”

“Good.” Merry puts the mirror back on the wound. It sizzles again but less than before and falls silent after a second or two. Arissa lays there trying to catch her breath and get her head around everything that's happened. How does silver make her pain go away?

“So angels are a hive mind. Are they like ants or bees? Is there a queen angel?”

“They are controlled by At’h, but have a certain amount of autonomy.”

“Servants of this Atah guy. Ok. What does he want?”

“What all living things want: Sustenance. The angels hunt for their lord’s dinner.” Merry shifts back to her human appearance and lifts the mirror. Her thin lips pull into a smile and she sits back with a sigh. The jagged torn flesh is completely healed. New pink skin peeks out from the torn clothing.

“It eats people?!?” Arissa sits up, eyes wide. Her wound forgotten in her surprise.

Merry chuckles, shaking her head. “No. A farmer doesn't kill the cow to get the milk. The angels hunt for emotions. Specifically Hope and Shame.”

Arissa stares at her mother, a horrified look on her face.

“Is it so strange?” She moves to sit next to her on the couch. “Some creatures consume the heat from the earth. Some creatures eat light. Humans eat creatures that eat light.”

Arissa's brows bunch together in confusion.

“Plants, dear.” Her eyebrow raises in a ’you already knew this’ look. Arissa blushes a bit at that and Merry continues. “Light is energy. Heat is energy. So are emotions. Why wouldn't there be creatures that eat the energy created by emotions?” Merry sighs deeply, her eyes looking off into the distance. “Humans put so much energy into emotions and it just seeps out into the world. Cities drown in it like a smog.”

“Isabelle. Heather. Their price.” Arissa sits forward, her face just starting to look thunderous when her mother cuts her off.

“Your friends received the most generous deal anyone has ever gotten. Truly they were given gifts.”

“You took their emotions!”

“No!” She holds one finger up with a thunderous look of her own. “I traded skills and perception to share their energy. They will still feel as keenly as ever. They will have no loss from our deal. That is unheard of.”

Arissa sits back into the overstuffed couch. She pulls her legs up and hugs her knees, “…why didn't you take a trade from me?”

Silence stretches between them as Merry avoids looking at her daughter. Her voice is subdued when she finally says, “your grandfather made a deal, once.”

“Really? What was his price?”

“You.”

~

Mist drifts between the trees, staying low to the earth. A soldier leans against the trunk of a tree and absently watches the bodies of his brothers disappear. He's lost track of how long he's been laying there, his blood and life slipping away through his fingers. A weak sigh escapes his lungs. He's never seen mist like this, thick like soup and hiding everything within its opaque confines. He wonders how much longer he can hang on.  
  


“Hello, soldier.”

A sharp chill slides across the soldier's nerves. He's too weak to actually jump, but the voice still startled him. He looks up. Standing over him is an imposing figure. It has to be seven feet tall and wide as a line backer. The creature is draped in all black, with a hood that obscures it's face. This must be Death, come to finally claim him.

“Merciful Lord above.” He can't help but let the words out of his mouth.

“No need to be vulgar.” The creature’s deep voice resonates across the soldier’s eardrums. The gentle reprimand instantly pulling contrition into his heart.

“Have you come to kill me?” The soldier watches the robes shift and flow around the body of his new companion. The bottom of the robes spreads out into wispy tendrils disappearing as if the robes themselves were made of mist.

“No. I'm not going to hurt you. You've done that well enough on your own.” Its voice is compassionate and smooth. Warm like the embers of a well kept fire.

For a moment the soldier wishes he could stay, and just listen to that voice. It wouldn't matter what it said if he could just be allowed to listen. But then he remembers and tenses up.

“Help me, please.” He doesn't normally beg, but this an unusual situation.

“Now that, I will do,” the voice perks up and then lowers again,“…if we can come to an agreement.”

“Wh–? What do you want?”

The creature lowers to a kneel next to the soldier. It's hood still obscures much of the face, but the soldier can make out a thin lipped mouth, curled up into a bit of a smirk. The demon’s skin is deep grey, nearly black, and blends in with the shadows from the hood. The canine and premolar teeth on both sides are elongated in double fangs, visible when it speaks. It's teeth seem an odd bright white in contrast to the dark skin. “That all depends on what _you_ want.”

“I don't want to die,” comes the fast answer.  
  


“Tsh. Such an obvious answer.” The demon probably rolled its eyes at that answer. It takes a breath and leans in closer. Its large black hand lifts to the soldier’s face, gently caressing his cheek. It threads it's fingers into his hair and cradles the soldier’s head as it speaks gently. “Tell me what you Want.”   


The soldier’s heart clenches. Suddenly everything he wanted to do in his life clamors to the top of his tongue, fighting to be the first thing out of his mouth. “There was so much I wanted to do,” he finally manages.

“Yes..” The demon pets him, as if soothing a frightened animal. It waits for the soldier to continue, not leading him anywhere, just waiting for him to find the words.

“I wanted to see the world.” Tears sting the soldier’s eyes, falling fast down his cheeks. He presses on, his voice getting thick from the loss he hasn't had yet. “Wanted to have a career. A family.” He gulps in some air, his blinks becoming slower. “Watch them grow and live. I wanted to be happy.” He's paler now, and his eyes struggle to stay open.

“And what would you give for that life?”

“I don't know.” The soldier coughs, his lungs are tired.“I don't have anything to give. I don't have money, or land, or titles.” He out of breath. He feels like he's been running.

“I'm not interested in those things.”

“Then… what?” He blinks, his head spinning. He can't seem to make his eyes focus.

The demon caresses his cheek while cradling the soldier's head. He leans close to the soldier's face so the gentle dismissal is sure to be heard. “You don't yet have what I want.”

“Please.” He coughs again, blood comes up this time. The soldier's heart races and he just can't catch his breath. His voice is weak, even to his own ears. “Please. What do you want? I'll give you anything.” His strength fails and his head leans fully into the demons grip. Its large hands are soft and dry and warm. Its touch feels reassuring. Like something tangible and real in the misty dreamlike world around them.

“Done.” The demons lips pull back into a deep pleased smile. The soldier looks up and sees the face so close to his. The demon has a handsome face, with a square jaw, strong nose, and well defined cheekbones. The eyes are large with red irises and black sclera. The upper part of the face is crackled and looks burned. A faint glow can be glimpsed peeking through the cracks in the face and shining through the irises. Four large horns sprout from the demons temples and sweep back in a wave away from the face.

The demon looks straight into the soldier's eyes, skewering his soul with the piercing gaze. The glow in its red eyes increases as it proclaims, “you will live, soldier.” The demon’s body starts to dissolve, wisps blowing away in the light breeze. “You will have your career, and family, and be happy.” It pets down his cheek, yellow–hot claws leaving a faint trail. “And one day, in exchange for all that,” it leans in, it's mouth hovering close enough so it's lips brush his ear, the whisper burns into his mind,

“I will have your grandchild.”

The soldier's eyes widen and his heart skips a beat. The demon disappears and the soldier's head falls backwards against the tree trunk. He pants sharply and can't stop a grief stricken moan.

A sharp cry sounds from several yards away. A soldier stands at the top of a ridge, looking into the valley at the wounded soldier. The newcomer turns and shouts behind himself. Soon another platoon of soldiers appears over a ridge and hurry over to their injured compatriot. He’s saved.

~

Arissa stares at her mother. She has so many questions swirling around her head. Each answer she gets just brings up more questions. “You couldn't think you would hide it forever. When were you going to tell me?”  
  


“Two years after your grandfather died.” That was too quick an answer.   


Arissa pulls in a breath with dawning realization, “Dad…he never knew.”

“No.”

“Grandpa didn't tell him?”

“What would he have said to his only son?” Merry touches Arissa's chin gently. “That he promised away his grandchild before his son was even born?” Her voice is compassionate when she adds, “your father was a good man. Kind, and so giving. I went to great lengths to make him happy in his life. I'm sure your grandfather expected me to appear before him dramatically the moment you were born and parade you off to hell.” She stops to huff a chuckle and shakes her head.  


“Hell is a real place. I'm going to see it.” Arissa's voice is flat. She stares at her mother in yet another new light.

“Of course it's real,” she has a wicked smile. It looks odd though. Too wide, too toothy. “But not the way you think.” Merry stands and steps over to the window, checking for something. “The underworld and overworld are not well understood by men.”

Arissa is quiet for a while. Questions cause more questions. Statements cause even more questions. Her head spins. “…what kind of demons are we?”

“You summoned me with one of my titles.”

“Meriheim? I don't know what that means. Like… it seems like if succubi are lust demons, that makes sense, but what are we?”

Merry rolls her eyes. “Succubi. Tsh.” Her disdain is obvious.“Trash demons.” She paces across the living room, hands going to hips. She takes on her usual lecture tone. “Humans have managed to mimic some of our hierarchy in their social structures. Infertaari are commoners. They are weak. Numerous. They immediately use the energy they harvest. Among the Infertaari the Salaxi – succubi,” another eye roll, “mostly go after sexual energy. It's abundant and humans are easily enticed. But it's like water. Thin. Not enough to sustain a stronger demon.

“Meriheim are higher status, stronger. Among the aristocracy of demons. They have a wide dominion, but are particularly known for death through pestilence.”

“Pestilence? Like disease and bacteria?”

“Among other things.” Her mother couldn't be more annoyingly mysterious if she tried.

“Hm.” Arissa falls quiet again.

“What did you call out today?” Merry leans on the half wall separating the living room from the formal dining room.

“What do you mean?”

“When you summoned me. Today.”

“I– I think I just said ’mom’.” Arissa shrugs, her arms loose around her knees.

“Are you sure? It felt different from before.”

“I was running for my life. I didn't do any of the ritual, I just–”

**BWAAAAAAAA**!!!!

A trumpet blast tears through Arissa. She can feel the sound of it in her bones. She can feel it in her soul! The force bowls her over, pushing nausea into every corner of her being. She leans over the arm of the couch, helplessly losing what little remains in her stomach. She hears her mother land hard, crumpled to the floor.

Merry crawls to her feet, unsteady, looking around with red eyes. She stills, looking at something through a solid wall. “Damnit. They sent a Throne!” She throws a blanket over Arissa saying, “stay hidden.”

She kicks at the wooden coffee table, sending it flying across the room. It smashes into pieces against the wall. Merry stands with her feet apart, braced as if holding something heavy. She lifts her arms up. A moment later Arissa can see a faint red outline, even without her Sight.

“What was that? What's happening??” Arissa tries to stand. She's so weak she only barely manages to get to her feet. She grunts in frustration and activates her Sight. She can see something a few blocks away in the sky. It's on fire and looks like a circle. Her vision slides towards it until she seems to be halfway there and can see more clearly.

The thing is _made_ of fire and eyes. So many eyes! Huge circular rings made wholly of unblinking eyes, surrounded by flames. The rings rotate, interlocking and moving in a horrible yet graceful dance around the center of an open space. In the center of the orb floats something that looks like the shape of a man with six wings. His face is obscured by a brilliant glow. Presumably he has a halo like the clerk. He holds a gigantic glowingscythe in one hand.

“What the hell is that?!”

“DON’T LOOK IT MIGHT SEE YOU!”

Arissa's vision snaps back and her legs give out.She collapses to the floor, gripping the blanket around her like a cloak.

Merry steps closer, almost on top of her daughter. Arissa leans against her mother for a moment. She has a flash of a penguin cub sitting on its parent’s feet.

“It's a Throne,” Merry explains. “They are the strongest Overworlders. They rule the highest order of angels and never hunt without a Seraph. The Throne is the eyes, Seraph are the sword.”

“But–”

**BWAAAAAAAA**!!!!

Her words are cut off by a second blast tearing through every nerve in her body. She heaves but there's nothing left to come up.  
  


Merry strains. She falls to her hands and knees, coughing violently. Her hand comes away from her face covered in blood.

“what is–” Arissa starts, but then stops as a shooting pain spreads from where the knife stabbed her. Shecrumples farther onto the floor and holds her stomach. She groans “hurts…”

“Damnit, damnit!” Merry slams her fist on the floor. “We have to leave. Now.” She drags herself to her feet again and goes into the kitchen. She comes back with a small knife and an armful of large liquor bottles.

“We can't fight?” It's obvious Arissa would be useless.

“I can't fight two Thrones, even without their Seraphs. Much less keep you alive against them.” She drops the bottles into her daughter’s lap.

“Where will we go?”

Merry reaches past Arissa and pushes the arm of the couch wit’s the tips of her fingers. Whole thing flies across the room, crashing through the bay window and leaving a gaping hole in the house.

“Home.” Merry says distractedly. She claps her hands together once. A bright line of sparks fly as light trails between her hands. She kneels and slams the line and her palms on floor. An intricate magic circle appears then grows quickly. Soon it fully encompasses both of them. If Arissa stretched out, her hands and feet wouldn’t even be close to the edge of the sigil. Merry grabs a bottle and breaks it nearby, splattering glass and liquor everywhere. She stands again to throw some of them to shatter down the hall or against the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Arissa grabs her mother’s pant leg. The pain is subsiding but she doesn't want to move much and risk it’s return.

Merry pulls the knife from her pocket and cuts a long deep gash into her forearm. She stands there a second letting blood spray across the floor before she flails her arm to splatter blood onto the walls as well as her daughter.

“Aah!! MOM! WHAT THE HELL?!” Arissa screams and crawls up her mother's body. She grabs at her arm to staunch the bleeding. Fat tears streak her face as she grips hard. “Oh my god Mom!!” Her hands slip in her mother's blood making it hard for her to keep a grip.   


Merry drops the knife and wraps her good arm around her daughter. She kneels down, pulling Arissa with her. She sighs and kisses the top of her daughter’s head.

Arissa grips her mom's arm tight to her chest, blood soaking into her dark clothes and smearing on her face. She sobs uncontrollably.

Merry moves as if in slow motion. She doesn't seem hindered by Arissa's grip at all. She extents her hand and clicks two bloody fingers together, pushing her thumb down on the end of her middle finger. Sparks fly from the weird reverse snap.

It takes a few tries but then the blood and liquor ignite. The fire spreads fast. Soon the walls and ceiling blacken and the house fills with opaque smoke.

The smoke detector’s piercing screech covers Arissa's sobs. She clings to Merry, bawling loudly. If she had her wits about her she would realize the fire was different. The room is hot. Hotter than anything she's ever felt. But there's no pain. She can't see because of the smoke. She coughs and sobs. A few seconds later there's nothing.

~

“Hurry.” Isabelle huffs as she walks down sidewalk.  
  


“I'm hurrying. We're almost there.” Heather clings to Isabelle’s hand as they walk up the steep hill to the gate of Arissa's neighborhood. Their friend’s house is on the first street in, but the blocks are large and they still have a long way to go.  
  


“It felt wrong. False. It hurt. We need to check on her.”

“I know. Felt like being stabbed.” Heather too huffs, her other hand holding her side, like in a stitch.

“She didn't answer her phone– *phew* –have to know.”

“Oh! stop, stop. I'm gonna–” Heather falls into the side grass, heaving up her lunch.

Isabelle leans heavy on the decorative stone wall. She feels winded like she'd been running full speed for miles, not walking quickly from the train station half a mile away. Her head spins and she holds it for a moment, willing the sensation away.

“Can't stop here,” Isabelle says. She gathers Heather up and stands with the smaller woman's arm around her shoulders. She takes a step forward, determined to keep going, no matter how slow. “Gotta keep going.”

Heather whimpers and clings to Isabelle, trying to keep her feet under her. She's always been grateful her taller friend was stronger than she is, but now more than ever since her legs keep giving out.

They finally turn into the neighborhood through the main vehicle gate. The actual gate is operated automatically by code or keycard so the little guard house isn't manned. The gate doesn't quite reach the fence, leaving enough space for the girls to slip through without either key or code. They hurry up the drive to the first street.Arissa's house comes into view five down from the corner.

“We're almost there.” Isabelle says just as they turn the corner. “Almost–”

**BWAAAAAAAA**!!!!

They only make it two steps down the street before the noise slams into them. Heather and Isabelle collapse on the sidewalk.

  
~  
  


Isabelle's ears ring painfully. Her vision swims as if she’d been hit in the face. Her eyes clear before her hearing. Cold washes down her back seeing her friend in a heap beside her. “Heather? Heather?” Isabelle crawls to her knees, pulling at her friend.She manages to turns her over, trying to check if Heather’s conscious. Thank all the gods, she is. Glassy blue eyes blink as if the young woman can barely see but she’s trying to look around.  
  


“Oh god..” Heather moans, her lace gloved hands move to cover her face. “What was that?” She tries to turn and sit up but she's so dizzy she can barely keep the ground under her.

Isabelle pushes up to her feet, gulping air & trying to steady herself, “…don't know. Something’s really wrong.” Shaking hands reach down to grip Heather and pull her up onto unsteady feet. Isabelle pants as she practically drags her friend past two more houses. Thank goodness she's petite or this would be a lot harder.  
  


**BWAAAAAAAA**!!!!

~  
  


Isabelle’s eyes hurt. The sun is too bright and in her eyes. Her ears feel filled with wet cotton. She can barely hear anything. Why is she laying down? Memory floods back and she gasps, turning over too quickly. Nausea rushes through her but she manages to keep everything down. Her hands touch a pile of black fabric next to her. Why is there fabric laying in the road? Wait, it’s Heather!

“Heather,” she shakes the prone body, “Heather!” She pulls the woman over into her lap. Open blue eyes stare ahead, unseeing, as the blond head lolls to the side. Is she unconscious? Is she breathing?? Isabelle can't tell. She can't hear well enough to listen for a heartbeat.How do you find a pulse? She touches Heather’s neck but can't feel anything. “Help! Somebody HELP!!” Isabell pulls Heather into her lap, shouting for help. She rocks her friend, sobbing and shouting.

Isabelle lifts her head to take a breath. Through her tears she can see something in the sky. It looks like a ball of fire. A massive orb made of light and heat hovers between her and Arissa's house.

“AAAAAA!!!” She screams at the horrible sight. It's like a tiny sun has appeared right here! The orb slides away then shifts back. Wait, no, it's farther away now. It takes a second but finally Isabelle realizes there are _two_, and they are rotating around Arissa's house. She's never seen anything like it, but she knows this is Bad. She Knows they are hunting.

The two orbs rotate slowly. From the center of each a long glowing rod extends. The section past a sharp bend is long and has a wicked curve that narrows to a point. It almost looks like a sickle. The orbs stop moving, one on each side of the house. The scythe–like extensions lift a moment then slam down towards the house!

“No!” Isabelle clutches Heather tighter as she stares at her friend's house.

The front windows blast outwards and thick black smoke belches from inside. The orbs attack again, hacking at the house. The blades seem to stop above the roof, as if resisted by a barrier. The orbs hit again and again, getting closer to the house with each strike.

“Stop!! Stop it!” Isabelle’s shrieks at the orbs.

They don't stop.They don't even seem to notice her. 

“Someone! Anyone! HELP!!” Her voice goes hoarse but she keeps yelling through her sobs.

A huge fire engine flies past her and pulls over in front of Arissa's house. Firemen in heavy coats hop off and start pulling things from compartments. Seconds later another engine rolls up and more fire fighters get to work. They don't seem to see the orbs in the sky or feel the scorching heat coming off them. A pair of ambulances park after the engines. The EMT teams hop out. One heads towards the house while another pair grab some equipment and hurry towards Isabelle.

The orbs lift their weapons and hurl them down again. The blades slam into the house, crushing the roof in. The house explodes in flames, knocking down the firefighters that were closer than the sidewalk.

“**ARISSA**!!!” Isabelle screeches. Something breaks in her chest and the world tips sideways. Wet copper floods her mouth. There's so much she chokes on it. Her lungs burn. She can feel concrete scrape beneath her face as she coughs and heaves. Tears block her vision. Hands grab and pull at her from so many directions.

  
The grips on her arms turn gentle and Heather’s weight disappears. She can hear muffled urgent talking but the meaning is lost. Deep voices sound all around her but she can't move. She can't scream or shout anymore. Her chest aches with a sharp icy pain. Blackness finally washes over her bringing blessed oblivion with it.  
  


~


End file.
